


Blood Sex Magic

by sifshadowheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bill Bashing, Bloodline Curses, Canon-What-Canon, Canonical Child Abuse, Cross-Species Relationships, Darkish-Grey Harry, Death Curses, Erik is a Warning, F/M, Harry Does What He Wants, I Just Need to Whump on her a bit, I Really Do Love Pam, Immortal Harry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Not Stupid Jason, Playing with Arthurian Legend, Playing with Canon, Playing with Mythos Origins, Powerful Harry, Shapeshifting, Slash, Supernatural High Council, Threesome - M/M/M, Vampire Royalty, for plot reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 99,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: Gwrtheyrn of the Cornovii was born on the Summer Solstice of Five-Hundred Thirty anno domini, the calendar system that the Romans had brought to his homeland along with their legions.  He also was bound with the bloodline curse to be undying, cursed to watch his bloodline wither and wane over and over again throughout time.  Too bad he was too powerful to bind forever.  Just fifteen hundred years...give or take.A time-twisted not-even-close-to-HP-canon crossover with True Blood with hints and pieces of Southern Vampire Mysteries.SLASH and A/U





	1. Prelude

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**A Harry Potter/TrueBlood Crossover**

_By Sif Shadowheart_

Disclaimer:  As always, Harry Potter and TrueBlood, as well as their associated copywritten entities, are not my property in any way, I’m not receiving any financial benefit for writing this, and it is only fanfiction.

**WARNING!**   **This fic contains SLASH and POLYAMORY/THREESOME of the M/M/M variety!**

_Author’s Note: This first prelude is necessary to understand what I’ve done with Harry.  And I’ve done a lot with him in his fic.  So, consider this prelude to the story as a getting-to-know-you chapter.  There’s no real plot or set up except for the very end but it’s important to understand what I’ve done with Harry because it WILL matter in the plot when we get there._

_In any case, I hope you enjoy this and don’t give me too much flak over the ancient names or the tribes or what have you.  Internet research can only take you so far when it comes to finding historically-accurate names for people who would’ve been alive during the Roman age but not Roman and not living in Rome._

**Blood Sex Magic: Meeting Harry Black**

Gwrtheyrn of the Cornovii was born on the Summer Solstice of Five-Hundred Thirty _anno domini_ , the calendar system that the Romans had brought to his homeland along with their legions.

It was a heavy name for a small babe come a moon early, but given who his parents were, what families and tribes he hailed from, it was not unfitting for a babe born during a Great Rite of his mother’s and father-dam’s people with the dark brown hair of his father Artōrius Castus Aurelianus, son himself of a Roman legionnaire commander and the daughter of the last chieftain of the Cornovii by the name of Rhiannon, and the shifting deep blue-green eyes of the Caledonii that marked him as the son of the daughter of Myrddin Wyllt of the Caledonii.  Angharad of the Cornovii had been taken by the eyes her daughter Branwen was given by her father.  Indeed, it seemed a trait that passed down through the blood, as her son had them as well despite the rich-earth eyes of her chosen husband.

The Cornovii were known for two things among the other peoples of Britannia: their warriors fierce enough to gain their own legion in the Roman ranks and their ability to adapt.

When Rome came, the Cornovii fought and in the face of Roman discipline the Cornovii fell.

Then they adapted.

Rhiannon of the Cornovii was only the most recent daughter of their tribe to marry a warrior of Rome heritage and she wouldn’t be the last, as proven by her son’s bride.

She was not significant in this.

No, the significance of Rhiannon of the Cornovii was in the blood in her veins, much like that of her son’s wife.

For Rhiannon was the daughter of the last chieftain of the Cornovii, who had been slain by Vortigern in that usurper’s attempt to unite all of the Britons in the face of invasion from both the West and the North, giving her son the right of rule over the Cornovii, especially with the endorsement by the legendary sorcerer Myrddin gained through a pact of marriage between Myrddin’s only daughter and the young Artōrius.

A pact which was sealed by the birth of a child and so with his legacy secured, Artōrius went to war against the Saxon invaders who Vortigern had invited in to “help” the Britons fight the Picts and the Scots only to turn on the Britons in the end.

He was named before the Old Gods as Gwrtheyrn and his father’s God as Honorius.

But he wasn’t born under a charmed star for all that his birth was portentious and before he reached eight summers old his father was slain on the fields of Camlann, leaving the by-then young Prince a King and his mother as his Regent until he became a man.

Their home of Viroconium flourished in those years under first Artōrius then Branwen then Gwrtheryn.

He had no love of war but it seemed war had a love of him and before he’d bedded his first woman he’d blooded his sword.

For the enemy that had slain his father wasn’t satisfied with the blood of _one_ man of Aurelian blood but wished to destroy them all.

Medraut, they called him.

A sorcerer, and more the apprentice of Gwrtheryn’s grandfather Myrddin, Medraut wished to end their line for daring to blend with that of Rome.

First he came for his father, then a few years later his mother, all the while testing his magics against that of his old teacher and the young King – to no avail, for Gwrtheryn was not the grandson of Myrddin for naught.

Gwrtheryn refused to live his life afraid of every shadow and in time took a wife and sired a daughter with more children to come – or so they thought.

Medraut, it seemed, had learned from both his mistakes and those that came before him and hatched an insidious plot: striking a deal of his own with the Saxon invaders that plagued the isle from the East to the high mountains of the West.

In the end, Medraut was destroyed by the boy-become-a-man that he’d hated for his impure blood and great magics in equal measure, but not without cursing Gwrtheryn in turn.

For a man and sorcerer who had a strong affinity for fire he bound him to the sea.

For a line that had dirtied itself with Roman blood, Gwrtheryn would watch as his line withered and fell only to grow anew: over and over again for all of time.

…

“It’s an interesting story.”  The pretty blonde woman laughed a little, tucking a fine strand of hair behind her ear as a man with sun-dark skin and rich sea blue-green eyes that titled towards emerald in the dim café light told her a yarn over tea.  “But Arthur and Merlin?”  She shook her head.  “It’s been done to death.”

Her companion’s laugh rolled over her like smoke from a richly-laced clove cigarette: toxic and intoxicating all at once.

“It has promise though.”  Blue eyes narrowed in thought, already planning her daughter’s bedtime story for the night.  “Could use an update though.  For one, no one would ever be able to pronounce some of those names outside of parts of the UK, Harry.”

Harry Black, who had once been called Gwrtheryn, leaned back with a shrug, having only been passing the time as he waited for the stars to align for the ritual that would – _fucking finally_ – free him from the sea-binding, allowing him to leave the shores of his native isle, though he hoped he kept his shape-shifting ability.

Being a selkie wasn’t quite _all_ play but it was a hell of a lot easier than being human most of the time.

And giving rise to more than one mythos in his life was entertaining, even as he laced the lovely Jo with what should become the next evolution of it.

“Call him Harry then,” he laughed again toasting her with his coffee as he rose.  “Should be common enough to suit if you’re going to ditch the historical and keep the bones anyway.”

“I’ll do that then.”  She waved him off, already forgetting the charming stranger with a strange tattoo shading his eyes.

By the time she arrived home, she couldn’t remember ever meeting someone named Harry Black who told her a fantastical spin on Arthurian legend in a café, but she _did_ have inspiration for her daughter’s story-time and in the long run that was what mattered.


	2. Unchain My Heart

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

_  
Unchain my heart, set me free_

_I'm under your spell, like a man in a trance, baby  
Oh but you know damn well, that I don't stand a chance_

_Unchain my heart (unchain my heart), let me go my way_  
Unchain my heart (unchain my heart), you were mean that day

_From Unchain My Heart by Joe Cocker_

**Chapter One: Unchain My Heart**

_Black Marsh Circle, Shropshire, UK; Midnight, Samhain, 1995_

Harry turned, breath still heaving as he climbed back to his feet, knees quivering from the massive drain to his powers.

Not totally.

He wasn’t completely helpless until his power rested and recovered from the strain and snap and drain of the ritual to free him from his binding to this island.

It had been his home, once.

But his family line had long since decamped for the Americas during their colonization and two hundred and thirty years was _quite_ long enough to have the curse scratching at his brain to observe them as it passed down through the blood.

For many years during what is now called the middle ages, he thought that the plagues might overcome that Saxon cunt’s spellwork.

However as he had come to learn, it was an insidious thing at work in the veins of his descendants and they _always_ survived even if only one in number to pass it down.

His portion was done, now.

An alignment, a ritual, and a lot of blood and power was what it took to break his shackles.

Clever, he’d give Medraut that.

The Saxon mercenary mage had been clever, binding him in such a way that even if he _had_ the power to break it – which he’d always had done – he would have to wait for the correct alignment to manage it.

A precise alignment of the stars and Earth that took _fifteen hundred years_ and then some to occur.

The fucker.

His life, while bound to both his bloodline and this island, hadn’t been wasteful or a punishment.

Not at all.

Once he accepted it, accepted all that he had become and had been done not just to him but his family and people, he’d rather enjoyed it.

He was wealthy beyond measure with only a few older creatures such as the ancient vampires of the continent and Egypt outpacing him from sheer _time_ to accrue wealth, he was as young and pleasing to the eye as he’d been when the curse had been layered upon him, perhaps even more fit from centuries swimming among and below the waves or fighting in a battle when he became bored (except for the brief _comfortably plump_ phase he went through during the Renaissance), and he was, above all, powerful.

It was inevitable over time that he would gain allies, as he rarely concerned himself with the affairs of the land beyond that of his blood, when his curiosity would lead him to a witch-burning he would interrupt or finding a vampire trapped and about to be given to the sun or beheaded or staked.

He went through such a prolific meddling period at one point that the legend of the Selkie had arisen from him, the male version of a Siren with the ability to shift-shape.

It was rather flattering, honestly.

Except for the part where he was blamed for every indiscretion a sailor’s wife partook in for centuries thereafter.

Harry could always tell his blood family despite the rumors.

He rather thought after so long bound as much to them as they were to his curse that he always would.

“Hello, Toth.”  Harry greeted the ancient vampire who had somehow between his saving his progeny from a staking in the 1100’s and the years in-between become one of his only true friends.  He’d heard him coming from over a mile out, by the parting of the air before the unbelievably fast creature who, if he was to be trusted and Harry rather thought he might, hailed from the era of the Egyptian Eighteenth Dynasty which would make him anywhere from just under thirty-three hundred years old to thirty-five hundred years (estimated).

It was from Toth that Harry – or Drust as he’d been going by that century when he’d saved Julian from his own idiocy whilst hunting the killing fields of the Norman Invasion and let himself be _caught_ of all damn fool things – had learned of vampires and other creatures of magic that were starting to come to England’s shores in greater and greater numbers.  An exchange that was hardly one way, given that Harry’s island home and the ones neighboring it to the West, were well springs of power that had given rise to their own beings and creatures of magic.  Not least among them being Harry himself.

At first the debt bonded them, then in time an appreciation of each other arose, and before Harry really knew it as the years churned on he had a vampire for his only true friend given that while his island was gifted in magic it wasn’t teeming with others who didn’t experience time as a fleeting thing.

He’d lost enough friends and family and loved ones during his first century.  Thereafter he didn’t – willingly – attach himself to humans with their mayfly lives.  He might have been something like human once, back when he was a boy learning to fight with sword and magic then a young king with a pretty wife and a beautiful daughter.

But the Saxon’s death-curse laid upon Medraut that was unleashed with that bastard’s death had well and truly accomplished taking vengeance for Medraut and there was little left in Harry Black of Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii besides his memories.

“How does it feel to be home again, old friend?”  Toth asked as he came to a stop before the tattooed form of one of his oldest friends, indeed his only friend outside of vampiric circles.

“Strange.”  Harry’s mouth twitched into the roguish smirk that had been his to own since before he became immortal.  “And free.”

Shropshire was one of the extant-counties of England that had once been part of his father’s – and then his – kingdom, traditional tribal lands of the Cornovii.

Their lands had spread over the now English-Welsh boarder, giving Harry quite the swathe of land to call “home” if one wished.

Toth, apparently, wished.

To Harry, he hadn’t had a real home besides the sea in centuries, only rising above the waves in recent years to check his calculations to see how much longer he had to wait to complete his ritual or to meet with Toth or pick up a newspaper.

Though at times he would also leave the lulling comfort of his home below the waves to see to his investments or in search of food other than the fish and seafood and kelp he ate in his seal form.

Or, when he was feeling particularly bored, start a new legend or myth.

He did so love bards.

No, he corrected himself.  They weren’t called bards anymore.  Storytellers, songwriters, novelists, poets.  The wielders of the mighty word.

His mother’s influence he thought, the relentless Cornovii heart of him at war with his Roman practicality.

Toth took his words with a simple slow nod of understanding, having never doubted Harry’s ability to achieve what he sought, merely what the outcome of breaking the binding might be.

He would never admit it, even under the pain of silver or the true death, but he had known fear for the first time in ages at the thought of the binding being removed _also_ taking back what it had given his friend: is impressive and unique form of unending life.  He feared what he might find in this simple stone circle in Shropshire.  A human born in 530 AD should only be bone and dust.  Not standing strong and ebullient with the remnants of ashes and blood surrounding him even as his golden torc – the one remnant of his old life he had kept all this time beyond his tribal markings – shining with a dull sheen against his sweat-slicked sun-browned skin.

His scent was as it always was: a strange but tempting mélange that at times reminded him of the Fae but without the unrelenting thirst that came with it, tinged with wisps of ember and the sea.

“And your powers?”

In wordless answer, Harry’s smirk stretched into a manic grin as he held up his hands: a spark staring and then growing into a ball of fire in one and an orb of spinning water in the other that he slammed together in a crash of hissing steam.

“Restored fully, though I’ll be tired for a time.”

It had been far too long since fire had answered his call, that part, fully half of himself it had seemed at times, intrinsically bound by the curse.

“My my.”  Toth answered Harry’s smirk with one of his own.  “The fully empowered son of King Arthur running around the world, what in the name of the blood will happen now I wonder?”

“At the moment?”  Harry arched a brow then closed his eyes and used an infinitesimal amount of power to clothe himself in the leather he was fond of, with a simple “t-shirt” made of silk covering the tattoos upon his chest.

Gods-bless the modern age: he didn’t have to cover his head with a hood to shield his eyes and keep mortal humans from remarking over his tribal marking that ran from temple-to-temple over his eyes and the bridge of his nose in a solid stripe of earth-brown pigment.

He’d grown mortally-tired of hooded capes and cloaks.

Being a seal was much simpler than dealing with human concepts of modesty and attire, at least before the movements of the last thirty years.

From Saxon invasions and the arrival wholesale of Christian missionaries to the nineteen-sixties he’d spend far too much time worried about the state of his dress revealing his tribal markings and outing him as an outsider.

He might be immortal, recovering from wounds that should have killed him time and again as he’d found over the years, but even so he had no desire to experience the pyre for himself.

Harry stretched his arms over his head and blew out a deep breath.

“I’m going to track down the last of my descendants and do some traveling.”  He admitted with a roll of expressive sea-green eyes.  “There’s places and locales I have heard tell of – from yourself and others – that I wish to see with my own eyes.”  He gave a soft sigh, eyes tracking over the moonlit fields that had once been his home.  “This island has no more secrets to discover, no more hidden charms to unearth: it simply _is_.  I wish to know more than this.”

“Ah,” Toth smiled and clapped him on the back.  “My nest will welcome you in Alexandria should your travels and wanders take you there.  In the meantime,” he arched an inky brow at his old friend.  “Julian has taken rooms in London for us, you are welcome to join as we discuss a few things that are growing on the horizon.”

Intrigued, Harry nodded and then gave Toth a wicked grin disappearing from sight with nary a sound.

Rolling black eyes, Toth ran, clearing the distance between the Hoarstones, also called Black Marsh, in no time at all given his great age to find Harry already greeting Julian at the vampire-owned hotel in London they’d taken accommodation at.

“Recovered powers other than your fire, have you?”  He asked, unimpressed with the showy display.

It was hardly the most startling thing he’d seen his friend do over the last centuries after all.

Toth greeted his progeny and consort Julian after the slight vampire of Tuscan origins finished fussing over Harry.

The three chatted as Harry tucked into the meal Julian had ordered in anticipation of his arrival, the vampire couple sipping on glasses of bloodwine as he ate the luscious beef wellington with accompaniment and rolled the rich red around his palate in hedonistic enjoyment.

It was often that Toth lamented Harry’s own undying state.

He would’ve made quite the vampire with his personality and lust for life.

Even if two-thirds of that life had been lived below the waves.

After all, to make a vampire the human has to die, something that his old friend was categorically incapable of.

“First things first.”  Julian announced after Harry finished his meal and the tray was removed, handing over a file.  “As you asked when your descendant crossed the ocean to the New World, we have kept an eye on them.  Currently, they’re in their withered state, only six survivors all living in Louisiana.”

“Thank you for this.”  Harry told them, setting the file aside to peruse later, fully intending to skip to the end.  There was no need to torture himself with the ebbs and flows of his family between leaving England for the colonies and their current state.  Though if they truly were in a withering state, he would have to see what could be done about it before they were fully pared-down to a single member.

He had time.

The curse was slow and insidious, they wouldn’t die tomorrow.

But now that he was free he would have to see what could be done for them, even if it eventually led to the end of his line without the curse keeping them alive at least with a single soul left to bear it.

Toth waved his thanks away.

It was nothing between friends as old as they, and so he told him before changing the subject to the _news_ he’d alluded to at the stone circle.

“The vampires are laying plans to have a Great Revelation of themselves to the humans.”  Toth told him with a sigh and an eyeroll.  It wasn’t his favorite plan and he saw much drama, pain, and irritation coming from it.  But, it is what it is.  The decision had been made, now they had to deal with it.

His nest would be safe, none of them had any intention of complying with demands of registration or whatever insipid policies were mandated by the humans.

They would go on as they always had.

Given that Toth’s coven was the most powerful in Africa, Toth himself the Vampire King of Northern Africa, there wasn’t much that anyone could do to force them to behave otherwise what with his own Maker being Tadesse the Vampire King of Central Africa and the oldest being extent on the continent with Toth’s vampiric sister Farai the Vampire Queen of Southern Africa.

No vampire not of their lands wanted to come and wage war against them.

Not ever.

Even the Greek and Roman vampires had known to keep their fangs from following their human counterparts to conquest in their lands.

The Authority – Toth still was exasperated at those jumped-up younglings trying to enforce their will on the old Kings and Queens – could say what they liked.  Children always did.  In the end, it was the ancients that ruled the world and they would do as they pleased.

“That’s going to go over about as well as a red dress in a convent.”  Harry noted with a soft snort.  “Are any of the other magical peoples planning on following them?”

“Depends.”  Julian shrugged.  He’d paid a bit more attention to the machinations of the Authority than his lover and sire, but then he was younger.  He had less recourse against them if he was caught alone without his sire or other members of their coven.  “If things go at least in a zero-sum manner they likely will.  If it goes badly then they’ll stay hidden and laugh at the foolish vampires who thought that humans had evolved to a state of acceptance.”

“You’re the guinea pigs of the supernatural world.”  Harry laughed a little at that.  “Well, you are the fastest and in many ways the strongest so it has merit in protecting the less-defensible peoples from the backlash that the humans are going to dish out with their world view being shattered.”

“You’re human.”  Toth pointed out with a laugh.

“I _used_ to be human.”  Harry rolled his eyes.  “The very same as you, though under different circumstances of change.  I’ll _hardly_ be more welcomed with open arms than any other creature that goes bump in the night.”

“But you’re not a predator by nature.”  Julian made the distinction.  “Vampires are and it’s only recent innovations that are going to make this safe for us – in theory.”

“You forget that ship-sinking phase he went through during the Elizabethan era, my darling.”  Toth reminded him.  “Our Harry can be _very_ predatory.”

“The Inquisition _irritated_ me.”  Harry shrugged.  “Nearly as much as the tales coming from the New World of depredations.  They didn’t deserve those treasures after what they’d done to _get_ them.”

“And the sailors?”

“Collateral damage.”

“Predator.”  Toth corrected with smirk.  “Just of a different nature.”

“Given how many conquests I’ve lived through.”  Harry snorted then rose to his feet.  “I think I’m entitled.”  He lifted the file and repeated his thanks for their hospitality, then disappeared once more.

“Oh, he’s going to have fun in America.”  Julian predicted with a laugh.  “Especially the South.”

“Good thing he’s not bound to the sea anymore.”  Toth grinned himself.  “Or I’d venture there’d be multiple freak squalls and sudden shipwrecks ravaging the U.S. coastline soon.”

…

In the last fifteen hundred years – give or take – Harry had procured many homes on the island he was bound to, even if most of his time was spent in his comfortably furnished cave on an island that was little more than a rock off the now-Welsh coast.

That was his home, where he’d found himself after being bound and cast into the sea.

It was supposed to be his prison, he’d made it his home.

More fool the Saxon cunt that layered that death-curse over Medraut, as it took more power than either of them had wielded against him to do more than fulfill the basic tenants of the curse, leaving him more than enough room to maneuver within and through it, either by shape-shifting to swim from rock to coast with his ability to magically transport himself hobbled or in a variety of other ways that he’d spent over a thousand years poking holes in the curse meant to drive him mad.

Knowing he would shortly need to contact both his demon lawyer and goblin banker to begin the process of cutting most of his ties to the home that became his prison, deciding to become truly a multi-national creature: Swiss banks he’d heard were the best, especially when run by goblins, and while he’d keep a home or two in his home country he’d heard wonderful things about the warm waters of fantastical places like the Caribbean, Fiji, and Hawaii.

Not to mention, depending on the status of his last remaining family members, now on the fiftieth – approximately – generation from his own daughter, he may decide to settle near them once more.

He did not glorify his connection to his bloodline or take credit for their successes but likewise he didn’t burden himself with their sins.

A benefit to being a pagan Cornovii and not a devout Roman Christian.

Harry intended to do what he could for his last remaining family, to free them from his curse if he could, but if they ended up not being worth knowing he wouldn’t mourn for either them or himself.

As long as he’d lived and watched over them before they’d left for the New World, with only the occasional word from that place via Toth in the last fifteen decades, there had been more than one descendant he’d felt the desire to end and scrub from his line though at that time the curse kept him from doing so.

He wondered if that was still true.

And if it was, whether he would once more be tested by a foul descendant or entertained by a spritely one or bemused by one dripping with compassion.

It was impossible to say.

Though as he flipped through the dossier Toth and Julian had complied – or had one of their servants compile – he saw that at the very least he would likely need to make a provision for them of some kind if they weren’t utterly vile.

It didn’t behoove the direct descendant of King Arthur to live in genteel poverty after all.

…

Cleaning up his affairs was simpler than it would be for a mortal, though still took time that Harry used to do some research on the current state of the world.

For so long he hadn’t had to concern himself with anything outside of his homeland that he found himself impressed with the global mentality that the mortals had acquired.  He’d stayed abreast of things mostly by swimming to the coast at least once a week to purchase newspapers and periodicals once printing became a thing.  That was a fun time.

He still missed Will Shakespeare and Geoff Chaucer the witty fucks.

King James he could’ve done without, especially that mis-translated trash that was accredited to him.

If pressed to pick his _least_ favorite monarch he’d watched rise and fall, Harry would have to flip a coin between either Ӕthelred and James the Sixth/First, though James’s crazed cousin Bloody Mary was high up on that list.

Mary’s Spanish husband and zealotry brought the Inquisition to his home, giving rise to what Toth _still_ called his “ship sinking period” as Harry’s only real form of retaliation.

It certainly made him glad that after his death, no other member of his bloodline ever married into one of the many royal families that eventually filled his homeland, since _that_ would’ve been a bitch to deal with thanks to his curse.

Harry kept his “rock” as his lawyer called it, along with his cabin on Loch Ness and a townhouse in London, the rest from the shabbiest flat to the finest estate were all sold off other than the land he’d kept but never modified or updated in and around his original home near Viroconium.

The bones and ashes of his immediate family laid there.

He would never let it go so long as there was breath in his lungs even if he only visited every Yule to spend the Rite with his only true family instead of ever-more-distant descendants.

Harry saw Toth and Julian again before they left London for their home in Alexandria, promising to visit within the year – which given that none of them had to worry about time was the mortal equivalent of somewhen in the next week or so – learning more of the particulars surrounding the coming “Great Revelation.”

Idiocy as far as he was concerned, but vampires didn’t listen to the council of their _own_ kind let alone an ancient sorcerer and shapeshifter.

They had dinner together – as much as someone who masticates and a pair of someones who very much _don’t_ could share a meal – where Harry learned that the slight changes he’d experienced in his power as it replenished, making him realized just _how_ hobbled he’d been by having to work around and through the curse-binding, were changing him in another way.

Specifically: changing his scent.

Where before it reminded Toth of a less-tempting Fae with hints of fire and the sea, now it was rich with the ozone-shock of a lightning strike, a scent that Toth hadn’t known in ages since the Christian faith had extinguished most of the powerful magic bloodlines, making him think of a lightning storm on a summer sea both warning and beckon all at once like a siren from myth.

 _Come, touch, but pay a price_.

Harry would have to be careful around young vampires, who were too naïve and brash to read the warning and would fall to the temptation.

Gods-knew that Harry would have no problem smacking them down for the offense.

The gods or nature or simply magic itself had put in place a curious set of checks-and-balances for all living things, even the most powerful.

Vampires had several lethal weaknesses to balance their physical power.

Fae were vulnerable in similar if different ways themselves.

Weres and shifters didn’t have the extended lifespan of other magical species.

And magic-users?

Magic users were in many ways the weakest but balanced that with their ability to strike back at even the oldest Fae or vampire with their magics.

Like with many other species, age equated to power for magic humans.

Now that Harry was unleashed, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Toth half-wished he would be in the New World to see it.

Gods-knew, none of those young upstarts would know what to do with themselves if they ran afoul of Toth’s friend, save perhaps The Northman, The Gaul, and The Celt.

The latter of whom, notably, wasn’t from the British Isles at all despite modern assumptions but from a druidic village of early Celts in the Carpathian mountains, anymore than he shared a cultural identity with the Gaul the two being from very different parts of Europe, different tribes, etc.

That was one of those mistaken-thoughts of modern times had that bugged the ever-loving-shit out of Harry since it arose in the 18th century, people lumping the tribes of his youth and prior under the “Celt” umbrella when they were nothing of the sort, the isles of his home being one of the last places in Europe to gain a widespread cultural identity until they became predominantly Anglo-Saxon intermarried with the Romans and original diverse Britannic tribes.

Most of the ancients alive had their sore point with historians.

Toth had more than most being from Egypt, but he didn’t deny his friend the right to bitch over the inaccuracy.

It was tempting to accompany his friend to the States just to watch the ripples and fireworks he was sure to cause but being a King wasn’t all fun and games despite how many of the children in the New World behaved and he couldn’t leave Alexandria while he ran around the globe with Harry.

Pity.

His friend was always good for a laugh or a fight, and when you lived forever neither was something to be discounted.

 


	3. Bonds of Blood

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

_Character ages: Hadley – 16; Jason – 15; Susanna “Sookie” – 12_

**Chapter Two: Bonds of Blood**

_Stackhouse Home, Bon Temps, Louisiana; December 1, 1995_

Adele Stackhouse neé Hale sat in her comfortable side chair in her front room, a cup of tea on the table at her elbow and a book open but unread on her lap, mind still whirling as she tried to keep track of the typhoon of events that had crashed down on her family in the last few weeks.

First-and-worst was the sudden passing of her brother Bartlett.

Not that she mourned him, no.

She’d done all her mourning for the man she’d _thought_ her brother was after running him off with a shotgun after she caught him hurting her little Sookie five years ago.

What made a man prey on children in such a way she’d never understand.

And as much as a good Christian shouldn’t judge, neither could she forgive such a sin on a stranger let alone roiling among her own family.

No, she didn’t mourn Bartlett’s death.

Taking a tumble down a flight of stairs and breaking his neck was a better fate than he deserved, though she supposed that God would sort the rest that the vile creature wearing a familiar face had comin’ to him.

But it opened up a wave of night-terrors in Sookie that exhausted them both, as if her gifted girl didn’t have enough to worry about with her special talents.

The will reading had been a shock, not over his assets, Bartlett had never been a frivolous man with his money and the Hales had hardly been going through hard times when their parents passed and left him the bulk of their estate, but she honestly hadn’t expected the life insurance policy, his bequests, or the strings that came with them.

Adele had had no earthly _idea_ that Bartlett had interfered with more than Sookie, let alone preyed upon her own daughter Linda, as well as Linda’s daughter Hadley who was sixteen now and wild as the wind.

Bartlett had demanded that his estate be split three ways between his victims, that his victims were all his own family was sickening in a way that Adele didn’t know she’d ever be able to pray away from her mind.  But that much-belated attempt at recompense had come with strings, as if such things could be _bought off_.  Therapy, perhaps the only _good_ things about the money.  Each of the girls were to seek therapy to deal with what he’d done to them, and the younger girls at least weren’t to know where the money came from.

Linda was old enough that she’d been at the reading herself, cursing up a storm when it was revealed that he’d interfered with her in that particular fashion – and that she’d let Bartlett around her own daughter anyway.

Adele didn’t know where she’d gone wrong with her children.

Her son allowing his wife to treat Sookie poorly over a gift she couldn’t help, her daughter not _telling her_ what her uncle had done then given him the opportunity to do the same to her own child and niece.

She didn’t know what good therapy would do Linda or Hadley, both as headstrong as they are and being forced to seek it out instead of making the choice for themselves, but Sookie at least _might_ get something from it if Adele could find a doctor whose thoughts didn’t do more harm than good.

Dirty money, that’s what it was.

 _Blood_ money.

But if it would help her girls, Adele would take it and damn her pride.

It was the _least_ her hell-damned brother should have done for them, that he had to die for it to happen…well.

That was all she’d like to think about the matter.

Adele had just taken a soothing sip of her herbal tea when something happened that, well, _hadn’t_ since her daughter was born: a man appearing out of thin air in her front room.

…

“You know.”  Harry spoke, not pulling any punches for his now-eldest living descendant after he’d taken care of the _stain_ on his family line.  He wasn’t a good person.  Unequivocally, undeniably, Harry Black was _not_ “good.”  Powerful, of course.  Immortal, yes.  Good?  No.  Even so, there were acts he had never committed even in his most enraged, perturbed, or even bored.

And molesting a child is one of those things, an act so vile to him and his people that he had walked through the centuries striking it down wherever he found it.

Murder, some would argue especially in this particular country and this particular age, wasn’t a rectification for a crime or moral offense.

Perhaps they were right.

But it certainly felt good to place Bartlett Hale under his power, force him to change his will and take out extra life insurance, then snap his neck like breaking open an oyster with the ease of powerful hands and centuries of practice before tossing him down the flight of stairs at the cretin’s farmhouse.

“This wasn’t what I’d had planned.”

And wasn’t _that_ the truth.  The last thing he expected when popping by to check on his last descendants was to find such a thing lurking in the mind of the eldest male, though as he was reading the matriarch he found himself a bit eased in his wrath that she had been unknowing and _had_ protected her grandchildren once the filth was discovered.  But.  _But_ , rather than report her brother she had left him free to harm others.

Harry liked, for the most part, what he found in the mind of Adele Stackhouse neé Hale.

Even so, she was luckier than she would _ever_ know that Bartlett had limited his predations to the girls of his own family who were – at the time – easy prey.

Had her blind-eye harmed another child outside of her protection, he would have held her equally culpable.

For her part, Harry saw her confusion…then he saw _why_ she was confused.

Fucking Faeries.

Her Fae lover had warded her home against his kin, they couldn’t just _pop-in_ as he’d done, leaving Adele perplexed with a sense of burgeoning panic given the sweet blond children sleeping in their beds overhead.  Fae-touched children.  If an actual Fae took a good look at either child they’d see their blood.

Though they’d never guess from which _line_ that blood came from.

Gods-damnit Fintan.

Worse, that damn Fae princeling was dead so Harry couldn’t exactly pop over to Faerun to throttle him for not checking on whether his spark ever bloomed in his hybrid descendants.

Ass.

At least Harry, curse or no curse, had kept tabs on his descendants in case one ever inherited his magic.

But no, it seemed the curse had latched onto his magic and his daughter’s magic and used it for fuel, giving those that came after them a predisposition to the supernatural but no innate skill otherwise unless mixed with another bloodline or blessing.

Fintan had _royally_ fucked up with mingling both into the Stackhouse line through his union with Adele.

That poor child.

Harry would do what he could for her, though given her powers it wouldn’t do to bind her from the eyes of the supernatural as he’d done for her aunt and cousin.  They could walk right into a demon or vampire or full-blooded Fae and never be marked as anything but uninteresting humans.  Even a starving vamp wouldn’t take a second look at them.

Young Susanna’s spark was too strong to allow him to do the same for her…but he might be able to ward her against the overt threats.

He’d just have to stick around to keep her safe from the subtle ones.

“Beg pardon?”  Adele found her voice, still blinking at the rich accented English that was different from how Fintan had sounded all those years ago.  She knew he was English, she could hear that.  But she also heard _more_ , and knowing what she did – what Fintan had taught her – of the world hiding in plain sight and being a student of history, she eyed the dark brown stipe over his eyes and part of his nose and the open circle of dull gold around her visitor’s neck and started to get an idea that this visitor wasn’t Fae at all.

Or at least, no version of one Fintan had ever told her of.

“It’s my own fault, I suppose.”  Harry sighed, then waved his hand and conjured a simple rectangular wooden stool that he straddled, hooking his booted feet into the rungs and bringing himself more in line with her vision, not forcing the matriarch of his family line to crane her neck upwards to speak to him.  He was old and pissed, not rude.  “I know better than anyone that best-laid-plans never seem to last through engagement let alone implementation, being altered and changed by necessity as events bring others – enemies and allies alike – into play.”

He sighed, then gave a flamboyant bow without rising, somehow making the motion seem charming.

“Harry Black, progeniture of the Hale Line.”  He told her, smiling roguishly as his electrified-sea eyes gleamed out from his sunbaked face.  “A pleasure to meet the current matriarch of my line, Mrs. Stackhouse.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.”  Adele nodded, slowly setting her book aside.  Fintan had been drawn to her.  At the time, he hadn’t known _why_.  She supposed, having a young man walk out of thin air into her front room and introduce himself as the progeniture of her line – all while looking not a day over his mid-twenties – that Mr. Black might have the answer to the question that had picked at her every now and again over the decades.  “Would you care for refreshment, Mr. Black?”  She asked, then her curiosity got the better of her.  “I’m assuming that’s not your real name.”

“Real?  Yes.”  Harry told her, mouth twitching and eyes gleaming with humor.  “At least all my documents and bank accounts and so on have that name.  The name of my birth, now?”  He slowly shook his head.  “Something which is considered rude in some circles to ask, my dear.”

“Your pardon then.”  Adele nodded, taking that in the genteel manner it was offered.  What a strange creature.  Other than the marking on his face and the color of his eyes, he could pass for any human man alive with his simple dark jeans, leather boots, and t-shirt.  His face gave him away as something _Other_ , though she fancied, from what she knew, that he had a way to hide those markers in public.  “My ancestor, you said?”

“Yes.”  Harry nodded.  “Not the furthest back, I could recite,” he squinted his eyes.  “At least a dozen generations that predated me.  None of them, however, are still alive though you’ve heard of a few of them as a member of the English-speaking world.”

“Oh?”

“Artōrius Aurelianus was my father.”  Harry told her frankly.  Either she’d believe him or not, it wasn’t really his concern.  What was his concern was protecting the two children over his head from the harm that could befall them as the boy was Fae-touched and the girl Sparked.  “His mother’s father was Viroco, chieftain of the Cornovii who was slain by Vortigern.  My mother was Branwen of the Cornovii and her father was Myrddin Wyllt of the Caledonii, to start.  On the Roman side the names grow rather impressive at times.”

Adele blinked.

Well.

That explained a bit of the draw her family had towards the supernatural.  They were descended from Merlin and King Arthur.  Though she gathered with the nonchalance he said the names that they weren’t the near-deities legend liked to make them.  Of course they weren’t to him, she thought.  They were his father and grandfather.  Legends to _him_ to be sure as boys looked up to their male influences, but not mythical in anyway.

“You are quite seasoned, then.”  Adele noted with a slight frown.  “Have you often appeared to our family?”

“Not since you left England.”  Harry told her with a shrug.  “Until recently I was still bound to her shores and could not follow my line from there to the New World.”

Oh, the things he could _tell_ her of history!

How much he must have seen!

Though that being bound business sounded like a bad bit of doing.

“And you came to me because I’m the matriarch?”

“In part.”  Harry pursed his lips, tilting his head.  “My original plan was to set up an identity as a distant cousin from Mother England to meet and interact with the family.  Once I was bound to watch my line but now I can be more than a silent watcher unable to assist or protect you, the latter of which being why I’ve decided to reveal myself when I found that your daughter and grandchildren have Fae blood.”

Harry craned his head, inspecting something that Adele couldn’t see.

“This is impressive warding against Fae, I must say.”  Harry noted.  “Though, only effective so long as the house never passes out of the hands of yourself or your bloodline.  Fintan always did know his magics but lacked at time for sense.”

“You knew him?”  The breath caught in her throat.  She’d loved her Earl.  Truly she had.  He’d been a good man who had loved children he’d known weren’t his own.  But Fintan…well.  With the wisdom of age she could admit that a genuine fairy prince was a hard act to beat or forget.  “Fintan?”

“The Fae realm intersected the mortal realm in many places, Mrs. Stackhouse.”  Harry smiled.  “They may have preferred mucking about on Iwernia but they didn’t disdain to meddle with Albion either.”

Adele’s brow furrowed, prompting him to clarify.

“Ireland and the U.K.”  Harry blinked, clearing the mage-sight he’d used to inspect the wards from the inside.  As he’d said: impressive but with flaws.  Though he supposed when you had more to do – like deal with _politics_ – than study and cause the occasional storm or take part in a battle or save a vampire from the stake that finding time to perfect warding schemes that’ve worked for thousands of years could be difficult.  Or as a sorcerer he was just naturally critical of the attempts-at-magic that some of the other species dabbled in.  Either way.  Aside from portal creation, illusions, and their glow-light tricks, the Fae weren’t all that magically gifted aside from their royal families.  At least, not when compared to a true mage or sorcerer instead of the simple witches with their trinkets and charms that were most prevalent after the magic wars of the Dark Ages such as the one his family had engaged in with Medraut.  “Yes, I’m familiar with the Brigants.  Had a bit of a working relationship with Prince Niall during the witch hunts of the Middle Ages to protect Fae-Human halfings in England to take them to safety in Faerun.  Fintan was still a young Fae then, not the grown male he must have been when you met, and still learning from his father.”

Harry had to smirk a bit over the uppity bastard Niall having his bloodline mixed with Harry’s given how much a pain the _ass_ he’d been to work with.

Maeve and some of the purists must be fucking _livid_.

“How does Fintan being the father of my children change your plans, Mr. Black?”  Adele asked rather than continue to chase the path of old dreams.  If he stayed, as she was starting to think he might, there would be plenty of time to ask him about history and his history with Fintan.

“The boy, Jason, is Fae-touched.”  Harry explained.  “While Sookie has a viable spark.  For some reason the two of them took much more Fae blood than your daughter or Hadley did.  They I was simply able to ward against the supernatural.  Jason and Sookie aren’t an easy case.  The supernatural will be _drawn_ to them, even if all Jason gains is a bit of extra charm and Sookie never transitions to full-Fae.  They need more protection than a warding sigil can offer.”  He leaned forward.  “I need your permission, as their guardian, to protect them to the best of my abilities, which will also mean protecting this house and yourself.”

Adele frowned, fretting over that.

Fintan had told her only a bit about the supernatural, just that there was more to the world than she could ever imagine.

The way Harry made it sound, it was just as dangerous – if not more – than the human world.

“What will that entail?”

“First of all.”  Harry explained, waving one hand.  “I’ll place sigils on all of you that will ward away the species most dangerous to the children, specifically vampires and Fae.  It won’t help if they deliberately draw attention to themselves but otherwise they’ll be safe from those species.  I need to reinforce the house against all the threats I can, teach the children how to control their gifts, and if necessary bind those gifts to protect them from detection.  Susanna’s telepathy isn’t a Fae trait for one.”  He continued.  “But a gift to Fintan’s bloodline by an old friend.  A _demon_ trait.  Without her spark she might transition into a demon instead of fae with the right impetus and _that_ is the last thing she needs.”  Harry grimaced at the very thought.  Demonic politics made the Fae look like amateurs.  “Depending on their abilities I might be able to teach them some magics to protect themselves but at the least I can teach them self-defense with their bodies and weapons.  They’re supernatural catnip, Mrs. Stackhouse.”  He sighed, rubbing one had over his eyes.  “The product of mixing Fae blood with the latent magic of my bloodline, and it’s only going to get _worse_ now that I’ve broken the curse binding it.  Their children could very well be fully magical in a way that hasn’t been seen outside of the few remaining _old lines_ in Europe, Asia, and Africa in centuries.”

“Will they be…”  Adele couldn’t quite articulate it.

“Like me?”  Harry arched a brow, then gave a soft snort.  “No.  They’re mortal.  Barring a turning, they’ll stay that way.  Watching the ages pass is my personal curse to bear.”

“I don’t know that I should trust you.”  Adele told him honestly.  “You’ve given me no proof of your claims and seem to know more than you ought about my family.  But…”

“But.”  Harry tilted his head with a half-smile, rising from his seat and vanishing the stool.  “For some reason you can’t help it.  Blood calls to blood, Mrs. Stackhouse.  I might not be bound to watching my bloodline any longer but that bit of magical spark in you tells you I can be trusted…at least with you and yours.”

“Yes.”  Adele gave a slow nod, folding her hands on her lap.  “Yes it does I suppose.  You have my permission to protect my grandchildren, Harry Black.  Hurt them and immortal being or not, I will make you _pay_.”

Harry gave a beaming grin down at her and a flourishing bow.

Oh yes.

She was a matriarch of his line, indeed.

…

Jason could hardly believe it.

Uncle Bartlett had died – which had sucked, he’d loved his Great Uncle – and Gran had put him and Sookie both in counselling, the same as Aunt Linda and Hadley though no one had ever explained _why_.

He could see, easily, that for some reason the women in his life were acting odd ever since the funeral.

That wasn’t the part he had trouble believing.

Understanding his womenfolk had never been Jason’s strong point, even before his parents died.

What had blown his mind was having one of Gran’s relatives, a young and endlessly _cool_ , guy cousin from England show up out of the blue and then Gran _letting him_ do things like send all of them on vacation to Hawaii for Spring Break while he had renovations done at Gran’s house, Jason’s parents’ house that Gran used as a rental to help make ends meet until Jason was old enough to live there, even Aunt Linda’s nicer place in Monroe.  It wasn’t like his Gran to allow others to help out.  _Especially_ not with money.

She’d kicked up a fuss over the vacation for certain, and Jason had all-but taken notes as cousin Harry had gently sat her down and explained how there was no such thing as charity or _owing_ with family.

Cousin Harry, near as Jason could tell, was richer than Midas and the last of their kin left from, as Harry said “Mother England.”

Fixin’ up the houses and takin’ his people on a trip was the same to him, Jason figured, as it would the regular folks of Bon Temps having family over for Sunday dinner or taking their grandkids school shopping at Wal Mart.

Less even.

But cousin Harry was the first man Jason ever _met_ other than the Bellefleurs who didn’t work in a rough-hands trade like construction or wild catting or servin’ in the military.

Even Uncle Bartlett had worked construction as a site boss, though it was good honest work as his Gran would say, giving Bartlett a comfortable home and decent living.

Jason had thought it was all easy money for Harry, the kind of life a teenaged redneck like him could only _dream_ about.  He’d thought that for near-to three months.  Until he’d come downstairs one evening, after the renovation least-wise, lookin’ for some of his Gran’s pie and sweet tea to find cousin Harry bent over papers spread all over the kitchen table, a pen in hand, a calculator at his elbow, and a scowl on his face.

Cousin Harry wasn’t plannin’ on _livin’_ with them forever, course not.

He’d bought the Compton place next door from sour old Jesse, allowing the grumpy bastard to keep livin’ there so long as he liked, and then went and started work on rehabbing a rustic-type cabin on the edge of the lake on the property far into the woods and away from the old plantation house which was undergoing renovations of its own.

The cabin wasn’t ready yet, granted it hadn’t been used in longer than Jason could think of, so for the moment Harry was still campin’ out in their spare room.

Jason had asked about the cabin, why bother after all with the size of the plantation house?

Harry and Jesse could’ve lived in that place together if the old bastard didn’t want to leave it and never once have to cross paths, ‘specially if Harry kept comin’ to meals at Gran’s table.

He’d been told it was a matter of expectations.

Folks _expected_ a man of means like Harry to live in a place like the Compton estate – once it was spruced up – but Harry was the sort that was happy as a calm in a two-room cabin on a lake near the bayou.

That was the first time Jason’s view of Harry as a posh fancy-man from England was shook up.

The second was that night as he saw Harry grumping over paperwork.

Jason had never in his life _considered_ that having money was work.

He supposed it wasn’t if you just left it alone and spent it.

But, as Harry had told him that night, the work that went with having money was not only putting it to work but making it work _for_ you and that took oversight, research, and a shit-ton of paperwork at three in the morning.

The last time…well, the last time changed more than Jason’s perception of Harry.

It changed his perception of _everything_.

…

_June 23, 1996; Stackhouse Residence, Bon Temps, Louisiana_

The children had just finished their seventh-grade and freshman years when Adele and Harry sat them down for the hard discussion that had been coming ever since he appeared in her front room and she agreed to allow him to – though she didn’t fully understand it at the time – take the three of them under his protection, effectively reinstating him as the Patriarch of the House of Aurelianus and the Tribe of the Cornovii, whatever they went by at the moment.

On one hand, it didn’t mean a thing.

On the other, supernatural front, it meant quite a lot.

It wasn’t just his Cornovii and Caledonii roots that were important in the lineage of who Harry had been but his Roman ones as well, as the House of Aurelianus had two branches: one ancient mortal nobility and military generals tracing their line back to the foundation of Rome and the other which was equal in age but had become a vampiric house when the founder of the mortal line’s brother was turned as a young man by Pythia, the Ancient Pythoness and the vampire member of the supernatural High Council.

Rather than blend his noble house with the House of Seth, when he was released by his Maker Aquila Aelius Aurelianus founded his own House that had a symbiotic relationship with the mortal House of Aurelianus until Aquila met the true death during the second Fae War.

As far as Harry knew, the House of Aurelianus – the vampire side – was defunct while the House of Seth was still extant but Harry reclaiming the association his family had once had with the House of Seth could only benefit them so long as he kept the vampires away from his generations-removed grandchildren.

Reinstating the name of the House of Aurelianus not as a vampiric house but a magical one would lend a cache to it that would protect his descendants from the more parasitic of the supe community, especially when it became known that the “Selkie” or “Cornovii” depending on who knew of him was the Patriarch.

Harry might have been bound and bored but he still made himself known and his influence felt in his homeland.

It was one of the reasons why despite being one of the countries in the Northern Atlantic it had such a dearth of vampires or demons but tended to draw magic users like witches and Fae.

Amateurs that they were in comparison to _him_ so long as they didn’t cause problems he let them be.

Removing his protection from the island and moving to his family – now that he was able to do so without the curse interfering – would be a power play unlike any seen among the community since the New World opened to the European supe community in the 1600’s.

They were the blood of his blood.

Bound or not, he’d found these three worth his protection even if the others had fallen short.

Well.

Magic was like anything else inherited, popping up here or there as it would.

That Susanna and Jason had been influenced more heavily by the latent magic in nurturing their sparks than Linda or Hadley wasn’t their doing or the latter’s’ fault.  He still watched over them, placed them under his mantle of protection, and did what he could for them.  He just wasn’t going to sponsor them into the supe world like he might do for Jason and little Sookie.

“Do you know why we want to talk to you?”  Gran prompted the children, though thanks to Harry’s wards making the Stackhouse home a dampening field for telepathy, Sookie couldn’t use her power to suss out the answer as she might’ve done prior to April.

She’d never been able to read Harry, thanks to centuries of mental defenses keeping him a still pond to her, making him one of her favorite people.

Harry’d gotten quite the little cling-on in Sookie, his own baby duckling to take care of and from Sookie’s report card last week for the end of her school year his lessons on meditation were helping at least some with her gift.

“Our report cards?”  Jason hazarded, knowing that they’d arrived and been discussed but neither of them had talked to them about how’d they’d done.  Though he knew it had to be better than Gran was used to seeing from either of them given Harry helping with homework and helping them in different ways than Gran, especially since he was able to help them in the hours before dinner while Gran was at work.

His Gran was a legal secretary at the small local law firm, had been since his granddaddy Earl died when he was five, and given her _views_ on Harry spending the money he did on them, she kept at it even though Harry’d offered to float them.

Jason had helped much as he could, working part-time on the weekends as the Bellefleur’s yard boy, but Gran insisted now that Harry was here he keep the money to pay for things he needed as a teenager like cold cokes and hot fries.  Last summer that job had paid for his football gear.  As expensive as the stuff was even second hand he couldn’t ask his Gran to try and swing it between her job and granddaddy’s pension.

“In a way.”  Gran nodded, hands folded on her lap glancing up at Harry with a look Jason and Sookie couldn’t decipher.

“You both know I have money.”  Harry began.  “I’ve offered to help out more but your Gran has her stern Southern pride to appease…”  He teased, winking at Adele.  “But there _is_ something to help that she’ll allow me: I’d like to homeschool you.”

“What?”  Jason balked, only one thing on his mind.  “What about football?”

“I talked to the principal.”  Gran soothed him.  “So long as you take one class a day at the school you can participate in any of their extracurriculars, including sports.”

“The Bon Temps school system leaves a lot to be desired.”  Harry said bluntly.  “Jason, did ever in all the time you can remember, have a teacher try and help you with your dyslexia?”

“No.”  Jason blushed ducking his head a bit.  He hadn’t known what it was before Harry pegged it.  He’d just thought he was a bit slow, since that was what his first grade teacher had told his parents.

“And I don’t think we need to get into why a quiet environment would benefit you, little one.”  Harry said with a gentle glance at the blonde girl who was nibbling at her lip.  “I can teach you both things that you’ll never see in an American classroom.  Besides which,” he ruffled their hair.  “Both of you need taught about things you won’t find in public school.  I know it’s a bit of an open secret about Sookie’s gift, but she’s not the only special member of this family.”

“I’m not?”  Sookie asked hopefully, eyes shining.  She wasn’t going to protest for even a second over staying home for school.  Tara and LaLa would miss her, maybe, but other than that…the kids were cruel.  Even Jason could be mean now and again before Harry had showed up.

“You’re not.”  Harry nodded.  “You’re just a little bit more actively special than your brother and Gran but they’re not without their own abilities.  Abilities,” he cast an eye at Jason.  “That I can teach you to use and train up at home if you’re not gone for seven hours a day or so at that dreadful school.”

Granted, they didn’t have schools when Harry was young.

He’d been taught all he needed from his parents and then the tribe and his mother’s sire.

But in the modern age he was appalled by what passed for education in Bon Temps after watching public and private education evolve over the centuries.

His family deserved better.

They _would_ have better even if it meant teaching them himself and getting a tutor for everything else…though depending on what the children wanted to do for careers between him and Adele they might manage most of it themselves.

“What’s wrong with me?”  Jason asked, ready to panic.

“Not a damn thing despite what the small minds in this town have convinced you both.”  Harry snorted, rolling his eyes when Adele whapped him on his leg for the profanity.

“Sookie, Jason,” Adele sighed, getting ready for a long explanation.  “There is so much more to the world than you’ve been led to believe…”


	4. High Tide

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

_Author’s Note: Now that we’re getting closer to the True Blood storyline, here is a change I made for reasons that wil_ _l eventually make sense.  I’ve made it that Nora Gainsborough was never changed by Godric and he has only the one progeny in Erik but that Roman is one of Godric’s fellow-progeny from Appius Livius Ocella and is older than stated in the show with, obviously, different origins._

_For that matter, I’m spelling Erik’s name with a k rather than a c due to personal pickiness over what I like to think Erik’s original name was as a human._

_There is also a jump midway or so through the chapter from the Great Revelation to when True Blood starts._

**Chapter Three: High Tide**

_Merlotte’s, Bon Temps, Louisiana; June 13, 2006_

The text message from Toth was the only “warning” Harry got as he sat in Merlotte’s bar and grill waiting for the right time to ask Sam to change the channel.

Vampires were about to crawl out of the shadows onto international television, it would be unmannerly for him to ignore that.

He just didn’t have a TV at the cabin, the plantation house – he’d finally convinced Jesse to move into a senior facility after a near-miss with the stairs – or Adele’s.  Jason had one, likely Sookie did as well at her apartment in Boston.  He’d wanted her well away from the roiling mess that the South would be for a good while at the acceptance to Harvard Law had been a gods-send for doing that, though her beau missed her.

Harry didn’t want to know what Alcide’s long-distance bill looked like, though if he was wise he used his cell phone, spotty service or not, rather than the old landline at Adele’s to call up to Massachusetts.

Popular opinion of Harry in the small community of Bon Temps had never been higher.

First he’d pulled Adele – and her grandchildren by default – out of the genteel poverty they’d fallen into without Earl’s paycheck.  His pension had helped as had her taking a job outside the home, but it hadn’t been enough.  Harry had pulled her up out of her pride, dusted her off, and gotten on with things.

For an eccentric Englishman, who ran around in cut-off denims or sweatpants with bared chest and feet more often than not, except in the coldest of weather when he deigned to don cargoes, boots, and a t-shirt, the Bon Temps gossipmongers rather liked him for that.

Even if they _were_ jealous that the good fortune had fallen on Adele and not themselves.

Still, in a tight-knit community like Bon Temps a high tide raises all boats, and so the Stackhouse’s good fortune had helped the community at large, if only some families more than others.

The improvements to three properties had allowed for an increase – however small – in property values and taxes surrounding them, helping pay for everything from the public school to the public works department over the years – and that was aside from the donations Harry was known to be free with for a cause he approved of such as expanding the public library or that of the school or some such other work like the community food basket for those down on their luck to eat more than rice and beans from their government allotment.

Some of the busy bodies had talked when they two children had been pulled from school.

Jason, after all, had never been particularly bright while his sister was… _odd_.

Those that didn’t talk about that worried about the state of their football team without the arm of Stackhouse, but found he still qualified to play by taking the last-period physical education class at the public school.

One crisis averted.

But it wasn’t long before many in town noticed the improvements to the two orphaned children that being homeschooled by their odd – but monied – cousin had instilled.

Jason didn’t run after everything in skirts anymore, while slowly-but-surely gaining a good head on his shoulders, and his sister brightened, no longer seeming as odd or off as before, though while the latter was a good thing and they liked to brag on bright Susanna Stackhouse nearly as much as they’d liked to talk about Crazy Sookie, it was Jason that dragged his friends upwards with his run of good fortune and improved circumstances.

Oh, Sookie’s friend Tara benefitted from having a solid male presence around the same as her cousin Lafayette, and wasn’t as prickly, but choosing the join the military instead of taking any job on offer in the tiny town wasn’t quite as impressive as the choices Lafayette and another friend of Jason’s Hoyt Fortenberry had made.

Lafayette had sat his behind down at the Stackhouse kitchen table the same as Sookie and Jason, determined to learn all Harry had on offer, staying right up there with Sookie when they graduated and gaining scholarships to Louisiana State University.

Word had it that Harry would’ve preferred Sookie go to school somewhere back in England, though homegrown girl that she was she chose LSU with Lala instead.

Hoyt had no interest in college, while Jason attended a two-year business program, as those two and Lafayette had cobbled together a dream in the wake of seeing what a good restoration and rehabilitation construction company could do – and the prices they could command.

SRF Restore & Rehab, they called it after Jason finished his classes and struck out together with Hoyt in starting from the ground up, Hoyt having learned carpentry while Jason focused on business, Harry lending them the seed money and a lot of help in the first few years, while Lafayette joined them later once he’d finished his degree in Management and Accounting.

It was a good business, and in the wake of Hurricane Katrina one that had been sorely needed.

They were joined a year before Lala by the man who’d come to be known as “Sookie’s beau” around town.

Alcide Herveaux was a good Southern boy from Mississippi that had met Jason through the construction business and had been taken with sweet Susanna at once.

Little did the gossips around Bon Temps know that Alcide was a werewolf and had scented out Sookie as his mate, to much consternation from his friend Jason and amusement on the parts of Harry and Adele, given that at a year older than Jason, Alcide was twenty-three when they met and Sookie at nineteen having just finished her freshman year at LSU and as pure as the southern summer sun.

When two years into their “courtship” as the genteel ladies of Adele’s book club called it Alcide had come to Harry with troubles regarding his father’s gambling habits, Harry had bailed the older wolf out, then bought Alcide into the business with Jason, another loan that freed the young but strong alpha were from the bonds of his Jacksonville home and pack.  He’d moved into Adele’s home at her insistence – though he stayed with Harry during the summers to keep gossip down as they hadn’t either married or mated as of yet – and pined over his sweet telepath when they were separated by her schooling.  It was understood that as Jason had inherited their parents’ home, Sookie would inherit Adele’s, making moving Alcide in as her future husband simply sound planning.  That it also gave Adele a helper around the old house was an unstated benefit.

Bon Temps gossip had it that Gran – and Harry – had approved of the pair marrying after Sookie finished her schooling.

A good thing, though it put her a bit _old_ was their considered opinion, as managing children with schooling wasn’t a smart idea.

And no one could deny anymore that Susanna Stackhouse was a smart cookie with her scholarships and fancy Yankee law education, though at least it was looking like she would be working out of New Orleans given her internship at Cataliades Law.

That her employer – and maybe someday partner – was a part-demon was information the gossips would have an apoplexy over.

But as a part-demon and the good friend of her grandfather Fintan, Harry had given him his tentative approval.  After raking him over the coals for not properly checking in on Fintan’s descendants.  One does _not_ bless a bloodline with a gift like telepathy and then leave them to flounder all on their own.  Which Harry had told him.  Verbatim.  At such great length and volume that Desmond’s ears could very well still be ringing once the part-demon had popped back up after Harry had made inquiries.

 _CNN_.  His phone buzzed showing a message from Sookie.

 _NBC._ Then another from Jason.

“Hey Sam.”  Harry murmured, knowing the shapeshifter would hear him.  Merlotte hadn’t known _what_ to make of Harry Black when he first purchased the old bar and diner from the previous owner but before long they’d settled in.  So long as Merlotte doesn’t forget which of them was the ancient sorcerer who could turn him into another form _permanently_ and who was a simple shapeshifter.  “Change the tv to the news.  _Any_ news.”

The shaggy-haired shifter – not that Harry could talk given the messy sun-streaked brown he called his own – nodded, setting aside the glass he’d been polishing and tuning the old tv set over the bar into their local ABC affiliate.

 _“This just breaking.”_ The chirpy blond female news anchor announced as a bright red _BREAKING NEWS_   banner streaked across the bottom of the screen.  _“Hoax or Horror?  Stories of_ vampires _taking over the airways…”_

Brows sky-high, Sam craned his head to look at the sorcerer straddling a bar stool with a glass of imported Scotch – good stuff that Sam stocked just for the ancient being that cost as much as his _bar_ for a case – in wordless question.

Well.

He supposed the smirk and nod was answer enough.

The crazy-ass fangers had done it.

They’d come out of the fucking coffin.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

…

For the next few days, Harry, Adele, and Jason had their hands full together with Sam Merlotte managing the fallout of the – as it quickly became called – “Great Revelation.”

More than one person had been incredulous to learn that Harry had met _actual_ vampires in his travels.

That was a constant for Harry Black once the Stackhouse kids were both graduated from their schooling and off to college: Harry traveled, the small town never sure of whether he was in town or not unless they asked one of his relatives or saw him sharing a drink with Sam at his bar.

He never went to church, one of his eccentricities that the biddies liked to chew over, most assuming that being English he went to a strict Anglican church somewhere else for his spiritual needs.

Those same biddies would keel over in shock if they learned he didn’t attend services because he was an ancient pagan sorcerer who drew at least a portion of his power from monthly rituals under the moon or the height of the sun depending on the season.

Better they not know he was a pagan had been Adele’s opinion.

They had enough to talk about the Stackhouses without that making the rounds as well.

Though both of them had heaved sighs of relief when Hadley – still a bit wild but no longer seeming a danger to herself after her years in therapy – both graduated and attended a trade school to become a dental hygienist and settled down with a nice – if bland – boy from Monroe.

Being considered well-traveled and cultured to go with his eccentricity – a glow that rubbed off onto his relatives as well – Harry’s opinion was sought, the sorcerer trading shifts at the bar with Jason to feed the story they wanted the small town they called home to believe, Adele doing the same with her lady friends and the good people of the parish church.

Sam was growly over Harry and Jason putting out a party line of believing, cautious, but generally accepting of the fangers.

Not that they cared what the cranky shifter thought given that they’d both caught him licking his own balls in his favorite form of a dog more than once since he’d moved to town nine years ago when Sookie was fourteen.

 _Shifters_.

…

_June 28, 2008; Harry’s Cabin, Bon Temps, Louisiana_

“What in the _world_ would the High Council say?”

The far-too-amused voice disturbed Harry’s precious peace and quiet on the wide dock he used half for sunbathing and half as a launch for swimming.

“Go away, Jason.”

And from the grouchy snap in Sookie’s voice, he wasn’t the only one who’d been woken abruptly.

“Tsk, tsk.”  Jason, not a lick of fear in him for the big-bad sorcerer or his high-flyin’ lawyer sister, started to hop lightly up and down, causing the dock to rock a little under the motion.  “Or the fancy-pants lawyers over in New Orleans?  Such _sloth_ , lazin’ away the day sunbathin’ nekkid as jaybirds instead of seein’ to Council business or reviewin’ briefs or whatever the hell it is you do at your firm, Sook.”

“I don’t start at Cataliades as a junior associate until mid-July, Jason, as you very well know.”  Sookie lowered her shades and glared up at her older brother.  “How do you know we’re naked anyway?”

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes.  “Like you two sunbathe any other way?”

Harry had to laugh at that, he wasn’t _wrong_ after all.  He’d spent centuries perfecting his tan on rocks in the ocean and beaches with rolling waves, he wasn’t about to let it go to waste just because he could do as he pleased now.  Well, for the most part anyway.  The “Great Revelation” had brought more than one headache along with it and Harry was still playing peacemaker along with the rest of the Stackhouse clan to keep the rednecks from Bon Temps from doing something _stupid_ like picketing the vampire club that’d opened up in the next parish.

Glamour – magical, not vampiric – was one of the skills he’d been ecstatic to regain as it made him appear fully-clothed no matter what he was wearing, or as was the current case _wasn’t_ wearing.

He used it mostly to hide his tribal markings from mortal eyes, but it had other uses, such as covering up the fact that other than in the coldest months he ran around barefoot in soft, worn-in cut-off cotton pants.

The Christian aversion to bare skin was something he would _never_ understand, though he was glad that for the most part the world had – to borrow a phrase from Lala who tickled him with his slang more often than not – _calmed their tits_ over a bit of ankle or leg or neck or arms as he’d seen restricted by more layers of cloth in his time than he liked to think about – male and female.

That first year of freedom, aside from fixing issues he’d found with his newest descendants, had been spent rediscovering magics that had been blocked in one way or another thanks to that Saxon cunt’s curse – and no, he would never refer to that Saxon cunt in any other way.

It’d worked for this long, he’d stick to it.

Parchment had been dear in his time of origin, but he’d paid the price nonetheless for a blank volume of the rare material, bound in wood and leather, that he’d set in preservation charms and protection sigils and anything he could think of to keep it from being touched by time, a volume he’d filled with everything he knew of magic or his people adding to it as he learned new things or traveled to new places or heard whispers of import.  That first volume had been filled within a few moons, then he’d purchased another and filled it.  And so on, for centuries.

Anthropologists would _kill_ to get their hands on his notes about the post-Roman tribes let alone everything else he’d witnessed as he traversed every last inch of the island.

Linguists would probably cum on the spot at the sum of the volumes as they transitioned between languages as they arose and he learned them – a safeguard to keep Harry from forgetting both who he was and where he’d come from.

He’d be willing to bet he was one of the only Cumbric speakers alive, let alone Pictish or a dozen others.

“High Council can fuck right off.”  Harry muttered, peeling open one eyes to glance at his Fae-touched descendant.  Jason had taken to basic magics better than Sookie, much to his surprise, but she’d wanted to learn more about the supe world than him – along with meeting the one who’d given her the “gift” of telepathy.  Given everything she’d seen since she was young, he wasn’t surprised she had a thirst for justice.  Jason’s ambitions were more pedestrian, though with the advent of the Great Revelation he’d become one of the top contractors for the vampire community thanks to being in business with a werewolf and married to a witch.

Amelia Broadway had been a surprise to Harry.

It was no secret among the family that he had no warm feelings towards the modern-day magical “hacks” as he called them.

Jason’s now-wife had been a breath of fresh air without the nonsense that seems to pervade the mortal magical community.

Amelia handled the vampire contacts, much like how Sookie’s contract with Cataliades had her working strictly on the mortal side of the law firm.  Harry refused – categorically refused – to drop the protections that hindered them in this way.  No matter how old they were, they were his to protect.  Keeping a pair of Fae-touched and Sparked young ones away from anything with fangs was an entirely sensible precaution no matter how many times Sookie fussed at him for it.

Jason wasn’t nearly as resistant to it.

Sookie and Jason both snickered at Harry’s bad-tempered response to the reminder of his new position.

It was inevitable the more that they’d learned of the supe world.

To them at least.

Harry had seemed willfully blind to the inevitable.

The High Council was made up of the most powerful supernatural beings in the entire world, with a representative from every race – including magic-users.  Harry was the most powerful – and oldest which often meant the same damn thing – magic user alive, ergo: High Council member to represent magical human interests.  Neither of them knew what kind of arm-twisting was involved but about six months after the Great Revelation he was inaugurated into the magic-user seat on the Council, a position he has mostly spent avoiding for the eighteen months since except for the annual Conclave.

They knew he handled a lot of his business long-distance, both to do with his estate – though that had calmed down about a year after he was freed from England – and the High Council, but he still had to be the single least-enthused member of the institution that pretty much governed all supernatural creatures.

That their great-granddaddy Niall was the head of the Council they were certain had a lot to do with how Harry was coerced into joining up, though he at least seemed to like Pythia.

“Was there somethin’ you needed, Jason?”  Sookie asked drily.  “Or did you just come by to take the stuffin’ out?”

Jason dropped a file on Harry’s cobblestone sun-baked abs.

“Got a request for a quote through Ames.”  He told them, sobering.  “Brought it right over.”

“What’s the problem?”  Harry asked, levering himself up to open the folder and felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the address on the first page.

“Yeah, that’d be it.”  Jason snorted, rubbing one hand over his mouth.  “I don’t know who the _hell_ this Compton character _thinks_ he is, but it takes a lot of balls to submit a quote request for property that not only he doesn’t _own_ but that is owned by my own ancestor.”

“Compton.”  Harry narrowed his eyes, something about a vampire with that name picking at him.  He didn’t quite have the perfect recall of a vampire but his memory was still that of an immortal.  It would come to him in time.  “I know of that vampire for some reason.”

“He works for Sophie-Anne.”  Sookie told him, trying to help.  “The exact position isn’t listed but he’s listed under her contracts.”

“I thought you worked on the human-side, Sook?”  Jason questioned, frowning.

“I do.”  Sookie shrugged, laying back down.  She only had a week until her weddin’ and was going to be perfectly golden for the occasion, her tan should _glow_ against the pure white dress she’d picked out with Gran and Amelia.  “Doesn’t mean I don’t know things about the other half of the firm.  Given that we live in her territory it made sense to keep track of who’s sworn to her.”

“That-a girl.”  Harry grinned down at his forty-eighth great-granddaughter.  “Use those demon contacts for all they’re worth.”

“The demon-demons or the lawyers?”  Jason asked with a shit-eating grin.

“Both.”  Harry smirked as Sookie shot them both a dirty look.  “You keep baking my dear, the glamour will hold.”  He told her as he climbed to his feet.  “Jason, thanks for this.”  He held up the folder.  “I’ll take it from here, just stall him.”

“Yessir, old-as-dirt grandpappy sir.”  Jason gave a cheeky salute, then stripped off his t-shirt and laid down next to his sister with his errand over and his wife not expecting him back for a time.  Amelia was inured by now to the care and maintenance of Fae hybrids and knew better than to expect him back too soon once he’d gone off to locate his “cousin” given Harry’s proclivity for laying in lazy patches of sun on his home dock.

“Faeries.”  Harry rolled his eyes at the sun-streaked-hair and deep golden tans the pair sported.  His was force of habit and inclination after spending many a day over the centuries laying bored on a rock somewhere when there wasn’t a war to fight or idiots to save from stakes and flaming torches and pitchforks.  His descendants on the other hand were a pair of sun-addicts, especially with his magical training, little as it was they could use, amplifying their quarter-Fae natures.

“At least neither of us are the reason the entire world has myths about seal-men rising from the waves and sleeping with random women.”  Sookie shot back.  “Seduced any married women lately, Selkie-boy?”

“It was a boring decade.”  He smirked, sauntering away.  “Hardly any wars to fight that I cared to fight in.  Had to do _something_ to occupy my time.”

“You know.”  Sookie commented to her brother after Harry had entered his cabin.  “It’s a flippin’ miracle we don’t have a million cousins.”

“Pretty sure the curse kept that in check.”  Jason noted, half-asleep already.  “That whole withering thing.”

…

Knowing how irritatingly arrogant vampires operated, Harry made certain he was dressed to impress in pure white leather pants that looked painted-on with to-the-knee boots in equally pristine leather, all topped by a silk t-shirt in the same electrified ocean blue-green of his eyes by sundown and waiting (and playing Angry Birds on his cell phone in-between texting Toth who had refreshed his memory on _why_ he knew of a vampire named Compton, though he’d never made the connection to old Jesse) on the foyer bench of the restored planation house for the knock to come as it inevitably would.

He’d been one of SRF’s first customers, paying the boys to update the rehab he’d done when originally buying the place from Jesse and they’d done a stunning job, Lala excelling both at keeping the books and with nagging Harry into furnishing the place beyond the foyer and sitting room.

It wasn’t like he really _lived_ there after all so he didn’t see the point.

Becoming a member of the High Council – which wasn’t _known_ outside of a few high-powered magic-users, the Council, and his family thank all the gods – had made Lala insufferably smug for _weeks_ as it gave Harry a use for a furnished show-piece he didn’t live in.

He wasn’t about to invite any of the other Councilors’ minions to his cabin, that was for sure.

The stench of ass-kisser would never come out of his drapes.

When the abrupt – rather rude in fact – knock came minutes after sundown Harry rolled his eyes.

Predictable.

Compton was _utterly_ predictable while Toth’s reminder made Harry want to punt him into the sun rather than let him be within a hundred miles of his grandchildren.

Fucking rapists.

He fucking _hated_ rapists, especially vampires who between their supernatural allure and their glamour had no _excuse_ to cause such pain beyond _liking_ it.

Sending one last text to a number thoughtfully provided by Julian at Toth’s request – though he’d had to go digging for it Harry was impressed he knew it at any point – he tucked his phone away and made sure his keys were handy.

That was the thing about predictable assholes.

It made it easy to plan around them.

Eyeing the _surprise_ he’d set up for Mr. Compton – just in case – as the dick knocked again, this time much louder and with a definite sense of irritation, Compton could _hear_ his heartbeat just on the other side of the door after all, Harry finally crossed to the paneled cypress door with it’s core of silver and iron encasing salt, and opened it wide putting on a placid expression that only a fucking idiot would believe.

“Hello?”


	5. The Art of Provocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really don't like Bill Compton...

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Four: The Art of Provocation**

William “Bill” Compton wasn’t sure _what_ he’d expected to find when he arrived at his family home but being unable to open the door and pass through wasn’t on the list, let alone the vision that met his eyes when the human inside finally deigned to open the damn door.

His Queen had set him two jobs in the Bon Temps area that made reclaiming his old home under the new legislation allowing vampires to do so if there were no living descendants preferable.

That Jesse Compton had been _very much_ alive a week ago was no concern of his.

What was the death of another breather to him?  Especially one as old and past his usefulness as his last descendant.  Killing him had been a mercy.

With that death, and Bill had made certain he was the last of the line before “visiting” the old man in his nursing home, the protection that human-owned domiciles had against vampires should have been lifted.

Should have.

And yet it was intact and there was another breather – though this one looked more like a fuck-and-feed with the painted-on leather and silk he was wearing – standing in the doorway of a finely furnished, from what Bill could see around him, restored plantation home.

It wouldn’t be a problem.

Bill would have the breather on his fangs and his cock soon enough, his advanced ability to glamour one of the only reasons he’d risen as high in the vampire hierarchy as he had.

But it was an inconvenience and Bill _hated_ to be inconvenienced.

He’d simply have to take it out on his soon-to-be pet.

Bill needed a base in the area to keep an eye on the Northman, Queen Sophie-Anne LeClerq having a constant – and annoying – paranoia regarding her ancient vampire Sheriff of Area Five, as well as researching the backgrounds of all the vampires and supes living in the area, some of which he’d put out feelers for regarding a building restoration that would obviously be unneeded beyond adding a light-tight space for the day sleep.

That his _other_ sponsor in vampire politics wished him to seemingly _mainstream_ was simply the icing on the cake.

Playing the humble southern gentleman and war veteran would be much more convincing in his ancestral home than anywhere else, that it was located in one of the few vampire territories he hadn’t been banned from along with his Maker was helpful indeed.

He just had to glamour his soon-to-be pet and then his plans can get back on track.

Bill had a very narrow window of opportunity to insert himself in Bon Temps before Northman would be on his back about protocol, and reclaiming his home and _mainstreaming_ were the excuses the Sheriff would have no choice but to except for the presence of a vampire he categorically despised living in his territory, and even that would likely require an order from the Queen to keep the giant bastard – in more than one way – from shot-putting him over territorial lines into someone else’s district.

“Hello?”  The delectable morsel asked with a baffled look on his handsome face, clearly not very bright despite the rich flavor of England in his voice.

Ah, England, Ireland, and the U.K.

That had been a fun few years with Lorena before some magic-user complained to the High Council and had them banned, Britannia being one of the few unclaimed territories that didn’t support a constant vampire presence due to the rich communities of magic-users and the Fae-Vampire treaty which prevented the befanged immortals from settling their favorite stomping grounds of old.

Though rumor had it that with the growth of shapeshifters, weres, and witches that even the Fae weren’t altogether _welcome_ on the islands anymore.

Locking eyes with the morsel, mesmerized a bit himself by the rich and unique color, Bill thrust his power forward.

“Good evening, won’t you please invite me in?”

…

Carefully controlling a smirk, Harry kept the dazed look up as he took a large step back and to the side, clearing the area inside his front door for the vampire as he waved a hand in welcome.

“Please, won’t you come in sir?”

Rolling his eyes as Compton’s fangs snicked down then the Civil War vampire stepped cockily onto the silk entryway rug in woven blood red and black, not even bothering with his advanced speed.  Though given the surprise that snapped into place, wrapping the little fucker in thin strands of silver woven into a dense net from neck to ankles Harry would’ve _paid_ to see him be tossed by the force of the spell.  As snarls and snaps came from the vampire now knocked onto his back on his rug and in a world of hurt, Harry crouched shaking his head with a smirk.

“Tsk, tsk Mr. Compton.”  Harry told him, keeping well out of reach of the still-lowered fangs as his feet and face were the only parts of the vampire not wrapped in the thin and flexible but strong as steel cable netting.  An old trick of the trade from a more lawless time.  But one that still worked quite well on a vampire too young or dumb to know a magic-user when he saw one and tried to glamour him anyway.  “That was quite rude.  Trying to glamour your way into a sorcerer’s house is just _asking_ for trouble for a vampire your age.  Not to mention your technique was rather crude: all force, no finesse.  Well.”  Harry tilted his head to the side in thought.  “I suppose for a vampire of your proclivities _force_ is quite your raison d’etra.”

“Who are you?”  Bill snarled out around the pain of the silver digging into all of his exposed skin and weakening him everywhere else.

“Ah, rude of me I suppose.”  Harry rose, reaching around and digging one hand into the back of the netting that was held in place with a spell, lifting the vampire and letting him dangle in the air.  Harry might not have the strength of a vampire but between being a shifter and his own hobbies he was more than strong enough to vamp-handle a scrawny fucker like Compton.  “My name is Harry Black, and this is my home you so rudely attempted to gain entry to.  A home I purchased eleven years ago – give or take – from your descendant if you were hoping to claim it under the new law.” 

He shrugged, walking and carrying the vampire with him as he shut the door behind them with an absent wave of his hand, the back hatch of his Jeep Trackhawk in cherry red opening with another wave, Compton watching his absent uses of power with eyes bugging from both shock and pain.

Harry’s spells had never been kind to the vampires caught in them.

Ones like his friends he was kindness itself to.

Thugs like Compton however, were a very different story and Harry had no issues making them regret the decisions of their unlife.

“Where are you taking me?”  Bill bit out with a hiss as being manhandled revealed more skin to the silver netting and it all dug in harshly as this _Harry Black_ used said netting as a glorified dog collar.

A snap of Harry’s fingers had a cage of silver snapping together from its hiding spot under his trunk carpeting, while a bit of vamp-handling had the fucker scrunched into the space that was tight enough to force Compton into the fetal position to keep from constantly burning his face on the bars of the silver cage.  A cage that showed no opening once Harry closed the door, the hinges and opening melding together seamlessly.

“You made a mistake, Mr. Compton.”  Harry explained, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood hip-shot in his drive.  “Vampires and magic-users have a treaty, the same as most supe species do.  By attempting to gain entry to my home through force of glamour, you’ve _violated_ that treaty.”  He smirked.  “I’m taking you to the area sheriff for him to deal with you.”

With that, Harry reached up and manually shut the hatch door.  No reason to overdo the magic after all.  It wouldn’t do for the vampires to know _who_ he was exactly before he wanted them to know.

Harry enjoyed his relative anonymity here in Bon Temps.

Word gets out that the magic-user High Councilor lives in the area and there goes his peace and quiet.

New Orleans was close enough for them to think his base was, actually pin-pointing him to Bon Temps was another thing entirely.

 _Oh fuck_.  Bill thought, panicked.  Not only did he get himself into one hell of a painful predicament, but now he was going to be tossed onto the mercy of Erik fucking Northman.

This _was not_ how he’d seen this night going.

No, not at _all_.

…

Erik Northman, vampire Sheriff of Louisiana’s Area 5, arched a brow when his progeny Pamela gave a gleeful cackle from the next room.

Monday nights were Fangtasia’s – Erik’s club that Pam had decorated in every goth vampire cliché on the books – only closed night where Erik dealt with petitions and other vampire business, his progeny to simplify matters always dying for the day at his home so she could brief him on what petitions to expect that night as she serves both as his club manager for this one business and as his Second in Area matters.

Pam wasn’t the most _expressive_ of vampires so for her to be cackling, someone must have fucked up in the last ten or so hours that would make their night at least moderately entertaining, and it likely was a vampire she despised.

Which, granted, didn’t narrow things down for him much given that other than Erik Pam didn’t really _like_ anyone though she at least respected the other vampires of their line.

Erik was certain that was more due to wanting to survive than any feeling given that Pam was the baby of the House of Seth, with only Lozen of Hedassah’s line and Donal of Zenobia’s close in vampiric age both being turned before his progeny and knew she was outgunned by at least a couple centuries otherwise.

Theirs was an ancient and respected line, though many of the upstarts in the United States liked to forget that, giving Pam entertainment when the young idiots thought they could break laws in Erik’s territory and emerge unscathed.

He was the oldest vampire in the state.

Of course he was going to fucking get his pound of flesh from law breakers, even if it was the only relief to his boredom of late.

Even his _maker_ was bored now without the need to hunt as human vermin threw themselves at anything with fangs though Godric had slowly become more and more apathetic in the last century, since just after Erik turned Pam, a turning Godric had not approved of at the time given how it came about, though as Godric had never come to visit even after his progeny settled close to his own territory of Dallas Erik believed that disapproval of Pamela had not been alleviated with time, Erik only visiting Godric alone at his maker’s request.

A request which had not come since the humans’ World War II, quite some time even for vampires of their ages.

Pam moved into Erik’s home office with her full vamp speed, the Blackberry she used for Area business in one hand and a bright grin on her lovely face.

“Someone screwed the pooch.”  Pam told him, eyes dancing.  “Seems a vampire tried to glamour their way into the home of a Councilor’s envoy.”

Erik groaned, rolling his eyes.

What a fucking idiot.  The High Council was inviolate, above even the Authority.  Trying to glamour your way into an envoy’s home, one who assisted and completed tasks of all sorts for one of the High Councilors, not unlike a vampire Second, was suicide.

The High Councilors all worked together to protect each other and their envoys.

That home would’ve been warded by whoever the magic-user Councilor was tighter than a nun’s knees.

Other species never knew who the other Councilors were, only their own, a safety measure to keep interference in inner-species affairs from affecting the High Council, such as a vampire manipulating who the Were Councilor was, the only exception being the Head of the Council, Prince Niall Brigant of the Sky Fae.

 _Everyone_ in the know in the supe community knew who that stuck up asshole was.

“Which Councilor?”

“Magic.”  Pam smirked.  “Seems the sorcerer’s home wards were above and beyond what you’ll usually see outside of New Orleans and the sorcerer himself resistant to glamour.  They’re already on their way.”

“The sorcerer’s bringing the idiot vamp himself?”  Erik arched a brow.  For the vamp’s sake it had better be a baby-vamp otherwise they were in a world of trouble, and if the envoy was _truly_ pissed off could even end up before the Council itself which would likely end in the True Death.

“Guess he lives in that shithole Bon Temps.”  Pam shrugged.  Technically part of Area 5, the backwater town was far too rural to appeal to most vampires.  Other than a single trip to scout it when they first arrived, Pam hadn’t stepped a single designer-clad toe into the place.  “Not exactly a long trip and I believe silver was involved.”

“How’d we learn of it?”  Erik asked, climbing to his feet and snapping up the keys to his red Corvette to drive them to the club.

“The envoy reported it himself.”  Pam told him.  Though she had no idea how he got her number.  Gossip if she had to guess.  All the envoys knew each other after all and Erik wasn’t exactly a low-profile member of vampire society.

“This should be fun.”  Erik shared a grin with his progeny as he revved the Corvette’s engine before peeling out of his drive.  “Any idea on the idiot?”

“Nope.”  Pam popped the ‘p’ with relish.  “No one is registered as living in the Bon Temps area.”

“Hmm, a mystery.”  Erik mused, feeling a tinge of excitement.  “I do love a puzzle.”

…

Pulling up to Fangtasia, Harry double-checked that his cloaking spell was holding before he stepped a single toe outside of his warded Jeep.  It didn’t do much, being a simple thing.  But what it _did_ do was invaluable, keeping anyone or any _thing_ from sensing his power or scenting his true scent or age or seeing the tribal markings on his skin or the torc around his neck, making him appear the same as any sorcerer of the modern age would present to those around him no matter how good their senses whether physical or magical.

Harry did so love being underestimated.

It was another layer of protection, another degree of separation between simple Harry Black and the Council mage Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii.

Damn Niall and his insistence on using his “proper” name anyway.

He was as much Harry Black as he’d ever been that unlucky bastard who’d been born the son of both Rome and Britain with a begrudging druid out for his blood.

Game face on, Harry slid out of the driver seat and onto the clean black pavement of the Fangtasia parking lot which for once was empty if Lafayette’s account of the always-busy Disney-World-for-vampire-groupies was accurate.

Given that it was Lala who didn’t know the meaning of tact unless in a business negotiation Harry was willing to trust Bon Temp’s resident King of Sass.

If Harry thought Jason wouldn’t kill him for it, Harry would snap Lala up for his assistant, a reality that was becoming ever more present as he was involved with the High Council.  If nothing else, it would be nice to have someone around to help him dodge Niall.  Irritating bastard.  If he didn’t want someone _else_ to step in and take care of his great-grandchildren he should’ve done it himself instead of leaving it for Harry to take care of anyway he saw fit.

That the way Harry saw fit saw them settling down with a witch and a werewolf instead of a “proper” Fae did nothing but grate at the uppity winged ass.

Fintan was ever so much more entertaining than his dick father.

Though, Niall was a caring dick when it came to his family…just not the best at keeping tabs on them.

In keeping with the farce of being a mildly powerful magic-user and envoy instead of the Council Mage himself, Harry opened the hatch by hand, leaning close for a moment as he dropped the hidden built-in ramp in the undercarriage to wipe Compton’s memory of seeing any of Harry’s more obvious uses of magic as he’d vamp-handled him into the SUV with an easy spell that thankfully modern-day magic-users had forgotten.  Hell.  It would be easier to write a book of the sum of what they still knew rather than all that had been lost to time.

Maneuvering the cage with Compton still in it onto the ramp, Harry lifted it up with an impressive flex of muscle for any watchers to drop the wheels built into the underside of what had been a wheeled dog cage he’d repurposed…a just-in-case measure that had come in handy tonight and one he’d have to replicate.  Hauling the cage out of the trunk and onto the pavement without care for the vampire inside it, he set the ramp back in place wrinkling his nose at the scent of vampire blood.  He was glad he’d had the cage, otherwise the upholstery of his Jeep would be utterly _ruined_.

Vampire just _did not_ come out of fabrics with the relative ease of mortal blood.

Something about the death-magics he supposed.

Nabbing the file he’d put together while waiting for Compton to show up, he slapped it down on top of the cage as he closed up his SUV and locked it, then pushed Compton around to the delivery entrance rather than bother with the main and the stairs he could see leading down into the club from the parking lot.

A buzz of the delivery bell had the door opening within seconds to reveal a brunette female vampire in a simple pair of leather pants and vest, her coloring and features having Harry peg her as Greek, though the sense of age he got off of her had him thinking Common Era vampire but still a Master being over five centuries.

And judging by the permanent mark on her neck just above her collarbone: mated.

“Yes?”  The vampire asked after a blink at the vision of a strange vampire in a cage being wheeled around by what smelled like a magic-using human.

“Harry Black.”  He supplied, odd blue-green eyes flickering to the clipboard in one hand.  “The Sheriff is expecting me.”

Thalia, progeny of Rasul and mate of Roman, a vampiress of Greek origins turned in 1250 CE, found the name on the line-up of meetings the Sheriff was having and ticked it off with her full speed, then nodded and stepped back holding open the door before closing it behind the odd pair before stepping carefully around the silver cage and leading the way.

“Follow me.”  She told the magic-user, amusement at the tableau sure to come carefully hidden.  Her Maker and her Mate were each going to be upset to have missed it, but generally speaking Erik kept a tidy and calm territory.  Few were the vampires either young or stupid enough to test Northman.

Well.

Unless they were both, like that vainglorious spend-thrift Sophie-Anne.

If it wasn’t for the Queen’s progeny André she would have been deposed long ago.

As it was, Thalia, like her Mate, believed it was only a matter of time before Erik got tired of her shit and beheaded the infantile Queen, a state of affairs that her Maker Rasul, a member of the New Orleans vampire court, thought couldn’t come soon enough though the impetus needed to give the Northman a needed push had yet to present itself.

If that was who Thalia thought it might be inside a silver cage, the missing motivation to move against Sophie-Anne might have finally arrived, all-but-giftwrapped by a magic-user.

Pushing open the double doors of the main room of Fangtasia, where Erik was sitting on a plain wood chair rather than the “throne” he used to entertain the blood-bags, all of the tables usually ringing the empty dance floor pushed against the booths and walls as a few vampires stood around either waiting for or having finished their petitions to the Area Sheriff, Thalia turned and held open one of the swinging panels as Pam, Erik’s childe, sped to stand at her maker’s side, a vicious grin breaking across her normally stoic face when she caught sight of what followed one of Erik’s most trusted lieutenants.

Ah.

Thalia had been right then.

It was Compton.

He’d never been a particularly attractive vampire with his sallow skin and form scrawny from starvation before being turned, but _damn_ silver was not a good look for him.

“Harry Black and prisoner, Sheriff.”  Thalia announced, the other vampires having turned to watch the miniature parade at the scent of spilled vampire blood mingled with the ripe scent of a magic-using human.

“Come forward.”  Erik gestured for the sorcerer to approach, eyes dragging over a tall human male – not as tall as Erik but few were even in modern times – who obviously knew enough about vampires to wear natural materials in his leather pants and boots and silk t-shirt lest a synthetic material’s scent offend the nose and detract from the image he presented.  And what an image.

Sun-browned skin, unique and beautiful eyes, a masculine face as lovely as one could ask with bones that screamed of aristocratic breeding, when one combined it with the heady scent of an actively-magical human and painted-on white leather pants and silk shirt to match his eyes, Erik could see how he’d be dismissed as vampire bait.

It was an odd supposition, and yet many – even vampires – tended to assume physical beauty, especially well-maintained and presented physical beauty, correlated to a lack of mental ability.

More fool them.

Or in this case, more fool Bill as Erik lifted a brow at the identity of the vampire in violation of the envoy’s home.

Erik didn’t know who the Council Mage was and likely never would, but whoever they were they were cunning.  Choosing someone who looked like Harry Black as an envoy, well, you might as well have dressed a wolf in lambswool and sent him among the sheep.  By the time they noted the predator in their midst it would be far too late.

Erik Northman was no sheep, however, and no matter how tempting a human the envoy was just that: human and not worth risking becoming entangled in.  Have fun with?  Yes.  Get attached?  No.

“Sheriff.”  Harry nodded slightly, a bit entertained to be giving any kind of submission to someone younger than himself.  Age equated to power no matter the species.  In those of mortal lifespans it was true of wisdom – usually – or life experience.  But in other creatures that lived until they died, aging was a power all its own.  “The Council Mage sends their regards and thanks for making time to see to this matter.”

“Of course.”  Erik nodded, more just a dip of his chin so that it was less in degree than Harry’s own.  “We are ever at the disposal of the High Council in Area 5.  I see the Council’s envoys are as well warded as ever.”  He arched a brow as Compton groaned in pain, likely the best he could do to protest at still being held captive.

Erik did so enjoy a touch of viciousness to go with beauty.

Like a stiletto strapped to a smooth thigh, each improved by the presence of the other.

Harry held out the file he’d compiled, which was taken by the statuesque blond at the Sheriff’s side.  Ah.  That would be Northman’s progeny Pamela.  Now she was supposed to be an interesting one with a bark as bad as her bite.

“This afternoon my cousin approached me.”  Harry ran down the series of events as he could realistically know them, leaving out anything he’d garnered by scanning Compton.  Thankfully, he didn’t have to go too far to figure out the vampire’s game, as it was the creature’s mind was a sewer he’d be glad to never breech ever again.  “His business had received a quote request for a property known as the Compton estate in Bon Temps for restoration and the addition of a vampire-safe space.”  He smirked a little as the two vampires reviewed the file at full speed but allowed him to continue to speak, likely for the elucidation of the other area vampires present.  “A request that raised more than a few brows since _I’d_ purchased the estate eleven years ago when I relocated from England to Bon Temps from one Jesse Compton, this cretin’s,” he lightly kicked the cage.  “Descendant.  I allowed Jesse to continue living in the house until a year ago when his age became a safety concern.  Interestingly enough.”  Harry sneered down at the whimpering creature.  “Jesse Compton died suddenly about a week ago, something I was unaware of until I looked into the matter following being appraised of the quote request.  This evening just after sunset, I had a visitor knock on my door, our Mr. Compton here who proceeded to attempt to glamour me into allowing him entrance into my home.  A home that is protected beyond the usual measures of being a human domicile, the evidence of which protection is in the silver netting trapping him.”

“Possible violence against a human aside, which is a serious crime according to the Authority.”  Erik pronounced a moment later.  “Attempting to glamour or in any way interfere with an envoy of the High Council is punishable by the True Death, isn’t that so Mr. Black?”

“Yes, it is.”  Harry smiled slowly.  “However given the current state of things, and being uncertain of what it was Mr. Compton hoped to attain by his rude attack upon my person, turning him over to vampire justice rather than taking matters into my own hands seemed most appropriate.”

“Pam darling, I think it’s your birthday come early.”  Erik told his childe who gave another vicious grin, nearly bouncing in her Louboutins.  “And look, Mr. Black was kind enough to giftwrap your present.” 

He nodded to James and Keith, two of his more trusted underlings and a rather disparate pair, already wearing gloves, to take away the cage.  James was all of twenty, turned at twenty years old and just coming into his second decade as a vampire while Keith was over five centuries old.  Both were highly intelligent and rather kind for vampires, making them a good fit for firm-but-fair Erik’s territory.

“We will interrogate Mr. Compton, as he is in violation of more than the grievances you have levied against him.”  Erik announced.  “Then he shall go before the Magister for his crimes.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”  Harry nodded again, deeper this time, before turning to go.  “The Council appreciates your prompt response to an attack of this nature.”

Pam waited for the delicious sorcerer to leave the building and Thalia to return from showing him out before speaking in Old Swedish, only herself, Erik, and Thalia able to understand the language.

“You want to fuck him.”  She teased her Maker.  “Dangerous taste, Master.  A Council envoy isn’t your normal easy vermin fuck and feed.”

“There’s more to him than meets the eye.”  Erik told her, well both of them though given that Thalia was much older than Pam he doubted she needed the warning.

“And the eye doesn’t go wanting.”  Pam rolled her own baby blues.  “I know the line, Erik.”

“Research him.”  Erik ordered both his progeny and Thalia, each female nodding in acknowledgement.  “I want to know exactly what it is our Mr. Harry Black is hiding behind all that spellwork.”

“What spellwork?”  Pam asked.

Erik just smirked.  “You really do have so much more to learn my dear.”

…

 


	6. Out of the Woodwork

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Five: Out of the Woodwork**

To much relief, the wedding of Sookie and Alcide went off without a hitch, though that last push during the week following Compton’s idiocy had simply highlighted his need to finally cave to what he’d been told for months and hire an assistant.

Who was the question.

It wasn’t as if finding someone who was level-headed enough to deal with all sorts of supernatural creatures while also being discrete was as easy as posting an ad on craigslist.

After the happy couple had left for their honeymoon and the clean-up of the Stackhouse place had been completed, a few of them moved the after party to Merlotte’s to keep from bothering Adele.  Watching the tiredness that had sunk into Adele’s bones, Harry cursed himself for getting attached again.  You’d think he’d learn.  That first century had almost broken him as he’d watched his daughter die.  And her children.  And her children’s children.

Now here he was: back in that same infernal position watching age take its toll on someone he cared for and setting himself up for another few centuries of misery as first Adele went, then her grandchildren, then their children.

A bitter cycle, to be sure.

And yet as he walked into Merlotte’s greeting his fellow shapeshifter with a laughing wave as he was beckoned from a prime table near the pool table, Jason’s face shining with laughter as he had an arm wrapped around Amelia and Lala teasing Hoyt who knew better than to be offended at his flirtatious ways, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

At least he had this, no matter how fleeting it turned out to be in the wake of centuries.

A wolf-whistle let him know he’d been spotted, along with Lala’s as ever over the top shouted greeting as he pretended to faint into Hoyt’s arms at the sight of Harry.

“Lawd have mercy, Sugah Daddy!”  The sassy, gay, black southern man was going all-out tonight after watching his best friend get married to a _fine_ hunk of man with her sweet southern belle self and the free-flowing champagne the Hale cousin had sprung for – along with most everything else in the Stackhouse’s lives since he’d strolled on in fine and sexy and _rich_ to Bon Temps like a daydream out of one of Lafayette’s teenaged fantasies.  “You’re gonna have me clutchin’ mah pearls strollin’ up here in your fine weddin’ suit.  Panties are gonna drop and these straight boys are gonna be all confused at a look at you!”

“Lala.”  Harry snatched the tall and muscular man up into his arms and out of the poor Fortenberry boy’s lap, Hoyt much too nice to push him off.  Like Lafayette could talk in his cream tailored linen suit and silk head wrap, nails painted a lovely pink to coordinate with Sookie’s bridal flowers.  He’d served as one of her three “groomspeople” along with his cousin Tara and Jason’s wife Amelia after all while Adele had done the honors of giving the bride away and Jason, Hoyt, and Alcide’s father had stood up with the only were-member of the Bon Temps shifter pack.  “When are you going to run away from these construction louts and come be my assistant?”

“You tell me the date and time, Sugah Daddy and your baby boy gonna be there.”  Lala sassed right back, snatching the man who stood just an inch shorter than him up into a fast two-step to the music coming from the jukebox.  “Long as you put me in the will.”

“You steal Lafayette and you better hope you have a will, Harry.”  Amelia teased the pair.  “My husband might just kill you.”

“Harry steals Lafayette from Bon Temps,” Sam commented drily as he brought another round personally, being good friends with the family of Harry, given that the Hale-Stackhouse patriarch was the Alpha of their little pack.  “And _I’ll_ kill him.  He’s so good at doin’ my books that he pays for his fee and then some in time let alone frustration.”

“You heard ‘em, Sugah Daddy.”  Lala sighed, leaning his head down onto Harry’s shoulder and batting his lashes up at the Englishman.  “The tribe has spoken, no Baby lovin’ for you.”

“I figured.”  Harry sighed as the pair dropped into seats at the table, Harry snatching up the cold cider Sam had started stocking just for him.  There were somethings Harry liked quite a bit about the modern age.  Literacy beyond the clergy and the royals.  Indoor plumbing.  Chocolate.  Some others…not so much, like what they called beer and ale.  Wine was still wine, mead was still mead, cider, cider.  But somewhen along the way beer and ale had started mating with hops vines and _bletch_.  He’d pass, thank you.  “Still doesn’t fix the problem.”

“You finally admitting you need an assistant?”  Jason arched a brow at his stubborn ancestor.  “You?  Sure you’re feelin’ okay, Harry?”

“Ha-bloody-ha.”  He groused as the table laughed at him, all good-naturedly but still.  “Admitting it has never been the problem.  Finding someone who can deal with my crazy-ass lifestyle is.”

“On that note.”  Amelia dug into her purse and pulled out a card that had a name and number written on the back.  “I put out some feelers with Octavia and some others in New Orleans.  Here,” she passed the card over, one of the standard SRF cards.  “I knew you would want to do your own checks so I only asked for the name and phone.”

Harry arched a brow at the name, recognizing it from the rolls that his envoys – his actual envoys – kept on known magic users, though he only paid attention to either ones with known rare abilities or those in his back yard.

Jesús Velásquez happened to be both, a brujo – rare to find outside of Latin America – who worked as a nurse in Monroe.

“I’ll look into it.”  He agreed, saluting her with the card before tucking it away in his wallet then taking a long pull of his cider.  With Sookie’s wedding finally behind them and the rush of last minute madness over, all he wanted to do was relax.  “Thanks, Amelia.”

Though it looked like he wasn’t going to get his wish, as a half-hour later a couple stumbled into the bar, all over each other, being loud and a general annoyance in addition to flustering their waitress Arlene, who was a good-natured if sometimes prejudiced woman who was in a relationship with one of Jason’s workers, a Cajun man named Rene who Harry had seen at a distance but never met given that he didn’t spend any time hanging around Jason’s worksites unless he was short-handed and in need of another warm body.

“Great, it’s the Rats.”  Sam cursed under his breath, getting up from his seat to take up position at the bar where he’d be closer to the booth across the way where the shambling couple had plopped down in all their trashy glory.  “Last time they were here Mack nearly started a fight with Alcide.”

“I remember hearing about that.”  Harry noted, cocking his head with a frown.  Something about that couple screamed _off_ to him.  Not in a danger way, just _not right_.  “Didn’t you ban them?”

“For a month.”  Sam nodded with a weary sigh.  “Which was up yesterday.”

Watching Harry watch the Rattrays, Jason nudged Lala and Hoyt, jerking his chin towards the contemplative man.

“What is it?”  Jason asked, voice low.  “Somethin’ we need to worry about?”

“In a general don’t take a hand off your wallet manner: yes.”  Harry told them, eyes locked on the pair.  The more he watched them the more his senses screamed _wrong_ at him.  He just couldn’t figure out why without getting closer.  Thankfully, the booth they’d commandeered was close enough to the jukebox to take care of that issue.  “Otherwise…I’m not sure yet, I’ll get back to you.”

“Oh lawd, this outta be good.”  Lala snorted, getting up to take his turn at the pool table as his teammate Amelia sat back down, the two playing pairs against Jason and Hoyt, the latter of whom took his shot but missed, leaving Lala a clear strike for a lead.  “When Sugah Daddy gets a hunch like that ain’t no good gonna come from it.  For the Rattrays at least.  Won’t break mah heart a bit.”

Given that Lafayette was black, sassy, and gay, all things that the Rats took issue with, he’d gone rounds with that trashy couple more than once since they’d moved into a trailer in the area six months ago.

It seemed like anyone who spent time at Merlotte’s in the evenings had for the most part, for one reason or another, which excluded Harry as he usually had better things to do of a night than drink beer and play pool.

He did his lazin’ about durin’ the day under the hot sun, spent so much time bakin’ himself or swimmin’ you’d think he was a mermaid or some-such.

Lafayette would never understand white folk, no matter how long he lived, especially rich white folk like Harry Black, anymore than he’d understand his cousin Tara who _should_ be there carryin’ on with the celebration instead of haulin’ her behind to a hotel in Shreveport until her plane ride back to New York where she was stationed.

Bitch had her nose all out of joint over sweet-assed Jason marryin’ without ever takin’ so much as a second look her way.

If it weren’t for Sookie being as stubborn as Tara, Lafayette doubted she would’ve ever come back but no one said no to Ms. Sookie Herveaux when she was set on gettin’ her way.

Bein’ a lawyer had only made that trait worse.

Lala feared for those who came up against her in a courtroom, he surely did, as surely as he wanted her representin’ him if he ever got in trouble of that nature.

The table watched, Lala taking his shot then another before turning his cue back over to Amelia as her husband rose to take his turn.

Harry wandered over to the jukebox, dropped a couple quarters and punched a few numbers lining up a good fifteen minutes worth of music, then wandered back taking a detour around Dawn, Sam’s second waitress on duty who was delivering another round of beers to Arlene’s Rene and some of his friends, a detour that took him right passed the Rattrays’ booth.

If he were being watched by a group that didn’t know him that well or at all, they never would’ve pegged something as wrong.

His step didn’t stutter, his face didn’t change.

But they knew him, some better than others, but they did.

So they knew to watch not his body language or his face, but his eyes.

And man oh man did they _flash_ like wildfire for a split second.

Sitting back down, Harry chatted idly with Amelia and the others, ignoring their rapt attention on him and their inquiring gazes for the length of the first song he’d chosen, then as the second kicked on he took out his phone and dialed a number he’d only texted before.

“This better be good.”  Came the snarky greeting.

“Harry Black.”  He responded, holding in the laugh that wanted to spill out at the snarl.  “There’s a pair of V-users at Merlotte’s in Bon Temps.”

_Click._

Harry lowered his phone, looking at his screen a bit bemused.

“Hung up?”  Jason laughed a little at the expression on Harry’s face as the older man shrugged and nodded, tucking his phone back away and leaning back in his chair, all the while keeping one eye on the door.

He wanted to see how well he had the Sheriff and his Second timed.

Given that Led Zepplin’s _Immigrant Song_ had just started with the iconic howls as the doors slammed open ushering in well-over six feet of pissed off Viking vampire with his Second and a couple others Harry recognized from the Compton mess on his heels, he’d say he had the timing just right.

“You did that on purpose.”  Amelia laughed into her cocktail, the others joining her when they caught the joke.

_We come from the land of the ice and snow  
From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow…_

Harry smirked at the hidden eye-roll the Northman gave in response to his little pun, then cut his gaze towards the booth where the Rattrays had just gotten _very_ still and quiet, scavengers not wanting to draw the attention of an apex predator.

“Take them.”  Erik ordered his people, Pam crossing with him to where Harry was seated with a group of fleshlings, at least three of the four having power of some kind.  “I find myself in your debt, Mr. Black.”  Erik announced loud enough for the bar to hear, quieting a few rumbles over the “fangers” taking off with the trash.  “V-users, dealers, and drainers are like cockroaches: an unending battle against vermin that skitter off into shadow at the least risk of detection.  I appreciate the tip.”

“Not a problem, Sheriff Northman.”  Harry tilted his head towards the Viking vampire.  “One good turn and all that.”

“Indeed.”  Erik returned the nod, then leaned down to listen to a whisper from Pam, a human gesture to help soothe the spooked humans.  “My progeny informs me that your companions are the minds behind SRF Restore & Rehab, is that true?”

“Yessir, Mr. Northman.”  Jason stood, answering the massive vampire.  “We are.”

“You did an excellent job on Pamela’s newest residence.”  He praised them, seeing a way to help even the playing field between himself and Black.  Pam had, of course, discovered the relation between the envoy and the company, noting that he’d even provided their seed money.  A good investment, given that SRF was about to become the preferred contractor of all the vampires of Area 5…thanks to his endorsement, naturally.  “You may find yourselves quite busy going forward.  Good craftsmen are hard to find in this era.  Gentleman, lady.”  He nodded to the table, giving a much shorter nod to the dog at the bar.  “Please, enjoy the rest of your evening on me.”

Pam darted forward and left a few bills on the bar, then darted back out of the dingy little place on her Maker’s heels.

“What the fuck was that?”  Lala asked, staring down at Harry in shock as Jason slowly retook his seat, the rest of the bar waiting to eavesdrop on his answer.

“That was the vampire sheriff of Area 5.”  He answered, sipping at his cider once more as Sam counted out the money left with slowly-raising brows.  “One Erik Northman and his progeny Pamela, with a couple enforcers.  Per the current Vampire-Human treaties in place in the United States, anyone found using or deal V is under the jurisdiction of the local vampire authority, in this case Sheriff Northman.”

“How did you know?”  Hoyt asked, blinking.

“V-users are like any other drug addict, only worse.”  Harry explained.  “Those two were high as a kite off of it and not exactly being all that discrete.  I overheard them discussing it.”

Which was bullshit as he’d smelled it on them, but all of Bon Temps didn’t need to know that he wasn’t just a very-well-aging human.

“How much did they pay to cover the inconvenience?”  Harry asked Sam as the shifter wandered back over.  Sam hadn’t spent enough time around vampires to note a V-user like Harry could, though if they had enough vampire blood in their systems he might’ve done.

“Just shy of a grand.”  Sam shook his head.  “I’ll give each of the staff a hundred-dollar bonus and still have enough left over to cover all y’all’s tab.”

“Rich white folk are crazy.”  Was Lafayette’s considered opinion.  “Guess undead rich white folk ain’t any different.”

“Please.”  Harry snorted.  “They’re _so much_ worse.”

“Know that many vampires, huh?”  Sam asked in amusement.

Harry being familiar with vampires was common knowledge, but this was the first time anyone had heard of him actually _knowing_ some, a distinction that meant a great deal to some people.

“A few.”

“Only a few?”  Jason arched teasing brow at his cousin.  “And who’s that guy who calls at weird times of day and night from what – Egypt?  The tooth fairy?”

“Well,” Harry smirked.  “Considering Julian is mated to another male vampire, he could be considered a _type_ of fairy…”

Lala almost did a spit-take he started laughing so hard at that as the rest of the bar went back about their business, leaving the strange Stackhouse clan to their own.

They would just gossip about them later, as was the proper rural southern way.

…

Outside, having stayed behind to eavesdrop on the outcome of their snatch-and-grab, Pam turned to smirk up at her Maker as Erik stared in surprise at the wall after hearing that Harry Black knew a vampire named Julian from Egypt as the only vampire that met that description of note who _could_ have come into contact with an envoy was the mated consort and progeny of the Vampire King of Northern Africa.

“You are _so_ fucked.”  She snickered, hovering a bit over his head until he gave in and joined her in flying back to the bar where they have a pair of vermin to interrogate.  “You’re lucky he’s only human or he _would_ have noticed you ogling his lips and the way his chest looked in that suit you old Viking perv.”

Little did _she_ know…  Erik smirked, rolling his eyes.  If _that_ particular being was white-bread human, Erik would live off of TruBlood for a solid week.

Perhaps it was the era she was born into – both as a human and a vampire.

Not much appreciation for the wonders of magic in the era of the Industrial Revolution, especially in cold blooded cultures like Victorian Britain.

Pam wasn’t used to seeing the world as one of wonder and infinite magical possibilities.

No, she was too pragmatic for that.

Still, though he would never consider his progeny to be lesser than _anyone_ and would take the fangs of the being who dared, she missed things that would be otherwise readily apparent to beings both her elder and her junior, as with the vampires coming into the light – as it were – and the likes of Rowling’s Potter and Tolkein’s elves, the world was falling in love with magic again.  Many beings either had to be quite old, pre-Inquisition at least, or very young to truly _believe_ in magic.  Even when they were the embodiment of it such as vampires.

He loved his progeny.

Erik always would.

That didn’t mean he was blind to her faults and when it came to anything that ran contrary to her worldview she was one of the most _stubborn bitches on the planet_.

Well, she’d learn.

Otherwise she was going to piss off the wrong damn creature and Erik would have to rip someone’s heart from their very chest and use it as a Slurpee for ending his progeny.

…

“Alright, _ami_.”  Sam dropped down onto the grass next to the magic-using shifter he’d somehow fell into a friendship with since relocating to Bon Temps.  “Spill.  What the _hell_ is up with all the creeps crawlin’ out from the woodwork all of a sudden?”

It wasn’t the first time one thing had seemed to lead to another in the area.

From what he understood, other than the Stackhouse siblings and the cousins Lafayette and Tara, there hadn’t been a lick of magic or creatures in Bon Temps before Harry moved to town.

Then next thing you know, Sam was drawn there, then a few other friendly shifters settled in the area joining up with Harry as the official/unofficial pack Alpha.

Shifters, as Sam well knew, tended to look down on their were cousins for _needing_ a leader.

Bunch of horse shit.

Just because they _could_ get along on their own didn’t mean they _should_ do.

They liked to shift and run under the moon just as much as lunar-controlled shifters like werewolves, they simply weren’t _bound_ to it like weres and they got along in a pack with other shifters and weres just fine.

Harry didn’t stand for any of that snotty thinking, as he’d had to make quite clear to one shifter who hadn’t liked Harry welcoming Alcide to his territory and into their pack.  Well, Buck had always been a blithering idiot in Sam’s opinion.  Prejudice in general was the quickest way to get Harry’s goat, something the rednecks in the area had been quick to learn and quick to avoid if they had a pair of functioning braincells between their ears.

And that included fangers, despite his pack being made of creatures that historically got along less than well with vampires who looked down on them as “dogs” or what have you depending on their species.

Given that it had been awhile since Harry had smacked down a redneck for one thing or another, Sam was sure after the scene he’d made with the local vamp sheriff some idiot would end up laid out on the floor of Sam’s place.

Though like the sheriff, Harry had least always made sure to cover his tab and smooth over any issues that popped up when his temper blew.

“Short answer or long answer?”  Harry asked, laying back against the soft green grass, eyes closed and a slight smile on his face as he listened to the rest of their little pack still romping out in the glade on the Compton estate they used to run.

“Both, I suppose.”  Sam sighed, thinking of how all trouble seemed to make its way to his place in time.  Went with the territory of owning the only bar in town.

“Short answer is that now that the immediate shock of vampires being real is over, people are starting to normalize them.”  Harry let out a put-upon breath.  “And normal for most people is one tick up from stupidity, especially in groups.”

“Do I even want to know the long answer?”  Sam asked with a frown down at his far-too-relaxed for the conversation friend.  “If that’s the short?”

“Probably not.”  Harry told him with a smirk, eyes still closed.  “Since it gets into the metaphysical and the foundations of the universe and how they affect all living things.”

“Jesus.”  Sam scrubbed his hands over his face.  “You know I need booze with my philosophy.  I’m way too sober for that kinda crap.”

“You asked.”

“Yeah, and now I wished I hadn’t ‘cause I still wanna know.”  Sam snarked, rumbling a hint of a growl under his breath.  “You mean that there’s an actual, explainable cause for the bullshit that tends to pop up around here?”

“Bon Temps is on a magical ley line.”  Harry opened his eyes and sat up, eyes shining with the peculiar light they got when he was looking at something other just couldn’t quite _see_.  “Ley lines are like…magical power lines that circumvent and crisscross the globe in ways and ever-evolving patterns that I would need a lot more booze myself to try and explain to a layperson.  Things are starting to pile up, magical events and interactions between beings, because of those ley lines.  They run in cycles, like the tides and stars only answering to magic instead of cosmic laws.  And the one here is starting to act up after I sealed off the portals to Faerun that were sprinkled around this area after I moved in.”  He smirked over at his friend.  “Niall gave me an earful for that when he finally figured out who was behind it.”

Ignoring the rest of it – for the moment – Sam asked: “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Iron.”  Harry shrugged his shoulders.  “Bought up all the properties with portals and ringed the fuckers in iron, including privatizing the cemetery which was the biggest.  Buried it at six, three, and one feet in hollow bands filled with salt.  Short of hiring someone to dig them all up and then binding the echoes of the old portals back onto the ley line, the dayglow bastards are shit out of luck for fucking and fucking around with the local human population now.  Wasn’t even that hard since I’d done the same thing to any portal I found in England already.”  His grin was all teeth.  “The Fae like to pretend that they’re all goodness and light but they’re just as fucking predatory as any vampire and often twice as underhanded.”

Hells, most of the time he didn’t even bother with buying up the land in England, just laid down the iron and cut the connection.

After the Fae Wars, they didn’t have the population anymore to run around fixing that many portals when there were still-functioning ones in other areas.  It was only Niall’s connection to the Stackhouse kids that had him pissy with Harry.  Well, that _and_ it made him look bad that a human was fucking with their mojo.  As if _that_ had been the first time.

Please.

It wasn’t even the first time _Harry_ had fucked their shit up, let alone any other magic-user.

“Cut the connection and the magical-battery-rivers are free to do whatever it is they do.”  Sam translated. 

“Basically.”  Harry agreed with that after a moment’s thought and finding it more accurate than most would think.  “It’s all magic at the core, all of it.”  He explained.  “Weres and shifters, vampires and witches.  Even something like me: a little of this and a smidge of that, it all comes down to magic in the end.  Magic is life.  As natural as breathing or the blood in your veins.  We’re all the same in the end, at the very foundations of our peoples and we all have to answer to it.  That’s why I’ll never fucking understand all the hate we seem to have for each other.  But.”  He mused, half to himself at this point, diverging a bit from his original theme.  “I suppose that’s just it.  The very first thing most of us learn to hate in this world is ourselves.”

Jesus.

Now Sam _really_ needed a drink.

And from the sound of it, so did Harry.

Getting back to the original question: “That means more shit is going to keep happening, doesn’t it?”  He prompted.  “If these magical rivers are ramping up?  More, everything I guess, coming to town?”

Electrified eyes, Harry for once not toning them down in public, something he rarely did even with the pack, met Sam’s warm brown and he gave a nod before climbing back to his feet and shifting to what Sam figured was one of his favorite forms: one of a mixed black-and-grey big-ass Eurasian wolf that Harry said was the now-extinct English wolf; the magical shifter off to run under the moon rather than continue to contemplate anything more serious than his plan to sleep until noon after moon-set.

…


	7. When it Rains

** Blood Sex Magic **

**Chapter Six: When It Rains…**

“What’s the emergency?”  Harry groused at Sam as he stumbled into Merlotte’s the afternoon after being out all night running around with the Bon Temps pack.  As it was, were it not for Sam being used to late nights as a bar owner Harry would seriously be suspicious of his awake-and-aware state being magically-supplied from some nature-worshipping hippy wiccan from Shreveport rather than just force of habit.

His plans for the day had _not_ included waking up to the buzzing of his phone and messages from Jason, Lala, and Adele in addition to pretty much his entire pack other than Alcide and Sookie who were still on their honeymoon and well away from whatever the latest drama was.

“Remember how you said to expect more of a certain kind of trouble?”  Sam asked him, voice pitched low to avoid attracting attention, especially from the uniformed pair of Sheriff Bud and Deputy Andy who were making the rounds of the Merlotte’s patrons.

“It was just last night Sam.”  Harry muttered, rubbing his forehead as he plopped down onto a barstool with exactly zero of his normal grace, absently thanking Dawn as the waitress set a glass of plain coke before him in hopes that the cold sugary drink would help perk him up.

It wasn’t often that the good folks of Bon Temps saw Harry completely dressed down in cut-offs, ratty boat shoes, and a plain t-shirt unless they dropped by his cabin out in the woods on the old Compton estate.

Though with the muscles on him Dawn wouldn’t mind seeing him in less a _lot_ more often, not to mention the ink peeking out from one shirt sleeve and wrapping around his left thigh.

“I’m tired not senile.”

“Well, when it rains it pours.”  Sam jerked his chin towards the cops.  “Maudette Pickens was found dead in her house.  Rumor has it was someone she knew.”

“And?”  Harry arched a brow as he lifted his cola to sip on.  “Murder is odd for a small town – unless a couple rednecks got outta hand or a husband came home too early and found someone with his wife anyway.  It isn’t exactly supernatural.”

“She had fang marks on her neck when they found her.”  Sam said, sharing a grim look with his Alpha as Harry’s eyes flashed up to his own over the top of his sunglasses.

“Fuck.”  Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, already wishing he’d just stayed the fuck home despite all the panic going around.

“Yup.”

“And right on the heels of Compton and those two drainers.”  Harry shook his head then reached over the bar and snapped up the bottle of rum to spike his drink.  He was going to need something a lot stronger than soda if he was going to manage deal with the local LEOs and their idea of what passed for justice in rural Louisiana.  Especially given that Harry was both a known “sympathizer” and had links to vampires.  And not just business-wise like a “proper” southern man if they must associate with vampires at all.

“Drainers?”  Sam frowned.  “Thought you turned ‘em in for using?”

“Did.”  Harry slugged down the rum and coke, then smiled at Dawn as she filled him back up with cola, leaving the bottle of rum alone to his own judgement, Harry passing over a bill to more than cover a couple drinks.  “Came out in the wash: pair of drainers already known and wanted in Mississippi and Arkansas.”

Sam winced at that.

He knew what happened to drainers, hell, _everybody_ knew.

Even when it was trash like the Rattrays, he didn’t like to think about somethin’ like that happenin’ to people he knew.

“Was she drained?”  Harry asked, eyeing the cops as Bud and Andy made their ponderous way over towards Harry and Sam.

“Not far as they’ve said.”  Sam told him, knowing where Harry was going with that.  “You know as well as I do if they thought a vamp was at fault – or had any proof anyway – that they’d both be on Channel Five talkin’ up the murder instead of here doin’ a cursory tree-shake to see what falls out.”

“Mmm.”  Harry grimaced as he smelled Bellefleur before Andy even made it over to them.  At least old Bud wasn’t sweating like a pig without a wallow in the July heat.  “You know some are going to spin this that she got what she deserved for messing around with vampires.  Be a good chance to see what the good people of Bon Temps _really_ think about a few things, don’t you think?”  He suggested before turning towards the cops as they posted up next to him, Bud rather obviously pushing red-faced and blustery Andy back a step.

Sam just nodded and arched a brow, then rounded the bar to relieve Dawn and let her get back to her tables as Arlene came back from her break.

“Hey there, Harry, how y’all doin’ today?”  Bud Dearbourn, the Sheriff of Bon Temps and the surrounding parish for some years asked the eccentric-but-wealthy English expat, forcing his deputy Andy Bellefleur to take a step back.  Harry Black wasn’t the sort of person a wise man in an elected position wanted to offend.

“Had better wake-ups, Sheriff.”  Harry told him, doing the aged sheriff the courtesy of removing his sunglasses as he spoke to him.  “Heard you’ve got yourself a case.”

“That I do.”  Bud agreed genially.  “Maudette Pickens was found dead this morning.”

“Shame.”  Harry tilted his head a bit to the side.  “Can’t say I know her beyond word of mouth.”

“That’s ‘bout what I figured.”  Bud sighed.  “But not why I asked Sam if he could get you here.  Word has it that you’re familiar with a few vampires Harry, somethin’ about havin’ met them in your travels?”

And did Harry Black travel.

It was one of those things that kept the people of Bon Temps from forgetting that he had more money than god besides the way he’d donate to just about any cause or the slick cars he drove new every year, as for most of them a trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras was a treat, let alone jetting off to Hawaii or home to England or New York the way he did at least a couple times a year and sometimes more depending on what was going on with his Stackhouse kin.

“That I am.”  Harry agreed easily.  “But with the current proscription on killing humans I doubt a vampire is at fault for this Bud, unless she was exsanguinated then a newborn maybe.”

“Maudette was known to consort with vampires.”  Bud told him, nothing at wasn’t common knowledge as his deputy questioned: “Exsanguinated?”

“Drained, Andy.”  Bud explained.  “Harry means that if a vampire had killed Maudette then they would’ve bled her dry.”

“Otherwise.”  Harry continued, knowing that Bud wasn’t going to give him a straight answer or he would’ve said already.  “You’re probably looking at someone with a grudge against vampire groupies or vampires in general.”

“Well.”  Bud nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Harry’s assessment.  “I’ll keep it in mind, Harry.  Thank y’all for your time.”

“Sheriff.”

“Sheriff.”

Harry and Sam waved the LEOs off, Sam arching a brow at his friend.

“What?”  Harry asked with a smirk.  “He gave me the opening and I’ve never been shy about sharing my opinions before.”

Sam shook his head in exasperation.

“Just be careful, Harry.”  He told the older shifter.  “If there’s a redneck or psycho running around offing people who associate with vampires, well, you’ve put yourself kinda high on that particular list, _ami_.”

“Will do, Sam.”  Harry gave a jaunty little salute to Sam and a wink at Dawn and Arlene as he slid his sunglasses back on.  “Asshole comes after me, that’ll take care of the problem nicely though won’t it?”

“Somehow, I doubt you’re his type.”  Sam muttered, rolling his eyes to the heavens as he asked for patience to deal with his devil-may-care friend.  “No fang marks for one.”

“Might not matter if he’s crazy enough, but we’ll see what we see.”  Harry waved as he left the bar, loping easily despite the muggy July heat out to his Jeep.

There was a dock, a sun lounger, and the afternoon sun calling his name.

He’d be productive later.

Like once he’d properly woken up.

…

Once Harry had rejoined the rest of humanity in the land of the living, he found himself padding slowly in his wolf form through the woods, double checking his wards and sniffing out anything strange – if there was anything to scent out.

There wasn’t beyond the regular mélange of Bon Temps oddness, which set his mind at ease for the moment now that he could properly appreciate the danger of having a murderer running around.

Whether Maudette was _truly_ killed for being a fangbanger – or just had _that_ bad of taste in men – he couldn’t say.

But Sam had been right that if someone wanted to take a shot at a person with ties to vampires Harry was a much more visible and open target.  In fact he wished the killer – if vampire-sympathizers were the trigger – _would_ come after him.  They would find Harry much more difficult prey to take down than a lonely, desperate woman who lived alone.

It was that last point that had him rechecking his wards before loping over to Adele’s.

 _Harry_ was difficult prey.

Jason, Sookie, Alcide, and Amelia were more than capable of taking care of themselves in a fight – and if they weren’t when they first met him, fifteen centuries of fighting in countless battles when he wasn’t in a slothful phase had made him more than experienced in teaching humans and others how to survive just a few moments longer than otherwise until help could arrive.

As heavily warded as he had his younger descendants with the danger of their Fae heritage that in Jason had blossomed into the persuasive charm of a full Fae and in Sookie had gifted her with a spark that had thus far remained latent beyond sparking off her telepathy, a few moments were all they would need for help in the form of Harry to arrive.

It was unfortunate to say, but Harry recognized the weak leak – so to speak – in the circle of protection he’d cast around his descendants.

Adele.

Stubborn woman that she was, she’d never seen the point in learning hand-to-hand considering it unladylike, nor ever accepted any protection measures from Harry beyond what he set in place to protect her home from the supernatural and her grandchildren from everything he could realistically manage.

Her _person_ had remained as unmarked by magic as was possible given her heritage and a convincing argument – one of few he’d ever won against his stubbornest descendent – that to leave Adele vulnerable was to make the children vulnerable.

Beyond paying for the wedding – oh, and how _that_ had chafed at Adele, and they’d had to have _that_ quarrel twice – of Sookie it was the hardest fought verbal battle Harry had won in recent memory.

And often it _still_ felt like a draw.

Yes, she was a stubborn woman, his descendant, a trait she’d passed down to the children she’d raised and had inherited herself from not only Harry but definitely his mother and wife alike.

Shifting back onto two-legs, Harry smirked as his clothes shifted back with him, even if all they were were a pair of his ever-present cut-offs and a t-shirt with flip-flops on his feet.  It never failed to amuse him the disgruntlement that Sam and Alcide and the other shifters treated his ability to shift his clothes with him being actively magical instead of latently magical like they were.  What made it better was that of them all, only Harry really didn’t give a damn if he was clothed or not.  Nudity wasn’t the gasp-and-clutch-your-pearls event that modern peoples treated it, especially living smack in the middle of what might as well be the buckle of the Bible belt.

“Adele, I’m here.”  Harry called out as he stepped inside the unlocked screen door.  She’d allowed him to do quite a few updates over the year but one of her sticking points had always been air conditioning, Adele preferring the “natural” option of fans and breezes.  He had a feeling that that was going to be one of the first things Alcide changed if Adele followed through on her current plan.  “With paperwork.”

And indeed he did, though he had something else with him as well, a simple pouch strapped to his back made of leather and enchanted to shift with him like his clothes with the documents Adele had requested he have set up and something he hoped she would accept from him.

“Come in, Harry dear.”  Adele called from where she was just setting out a pitcher of iced sun tea and the lemon squares the dear man preferred as she’d discovered that first summer he’d been with them.  And he was a dear man to her.  No matter that the longer she’d known him the harder she found it to remember that he was the progenitor of her family.  It was hard to see the ancient Cornovii prince and king in the often-lazy young face that could clear a plate of lemon squares faster than Jason after her fried chicken and spent more time laying in the sun than seemed possible given all the matters she knew he constantly juggled.  Word had it that he was finally giving into the need for an assistant and she’d never been more pleased for him.  Ancient or not, it couldn’t be healthful living on an hour or two of sleep as she reckoned he got a night with all the matters on his mind.  “I’m in the kitchen.”

“Adele, my darling.”  Harry beamed a smile that was all white teeth in his burnished face, both at the sight of his favorite descendant – though he’d deny it to his last breath if anyone ever asked that he played favorites – and the lemon squares.  “You spoil me.”

“Tish-tosh.”  Adele waved that off, batting softly at his arm as he set down the pack to hang from the rungs of the kitchen chairs that had lived in the kitchen long before she’d become the lady of the house along with the matching table, reaching up to plant a soft kiss upon his lightly-stubbled cheek.  Anymore, she treated him as much of a grandchild to her as her own.  Age, she supposed.  Old eyes fooling an old brain that the man who looked in his twenties couldn’t _possibly_ be older than her even through she knew better.  “You deserve to be spoiled every now and again with how well you take care of all of us.”  She cast him a gentle scolding glance.  “Don’t think I don’t know you paid that company to come and clean up the grounds and house after sending me off to bed after Sookie’s wedding.  I woke up to folks bustling all around the yard and others waiting ever-so-politely to be let loose on the ground floor.”

Harry didn’t even pretend to look contrite as he passed over the folio with the legal documents she’d asked him to handle for her – mainly as she knew he liked to be of use than any real _need_ to have him play middle-man – and poured himself and her glasses of frosty tea, setting a perfectly cut square of lemon and pastry on her plate before serving himself half the tray.

When it came to Adele’s cooking he didn’t even pretend to have self-control and it gave Adele such a lovely blush when one of “her youngin’s” appreciated her work.

He’d be sent home with the rest of the tray, just as Jason would always leave with a hamper of fried chicken, Amelia blondie bars, and Sookie brownies.

Alcide, lucky dog that he was, didn’t have to leave for goodies as he lived just upstairs.

 _That_ had been a change and accompanying argument Harry was more than happy to stay the fuck out of.

Especially as it was between Adele and Sookie.

Adele turning over the upper floor of the house to the now-newlyweds, including the master bedroom, and moving down into a renovated den on the ground floor had had them going rounds and a week of frosty southern pleasantries before Adele had her way and Sookie stopped protesting.

It was an inevitable end when Adele pulled out the final blow: at the end of the day, it was Adele’s house and she could live where she pleased within it.

And that was that.

To appease both women’s sensibilities, Alcide had moved – alone – into the master suite while Sookie maintained her childhood bedroom, though now that they were married and mated she would be joining him and the werewolf would renovate her old room into a nursey, though they weren’t planning on having children _quite_ yet, wolves were known to be fertile and given enough of a moon-rut Harry couldn’t guarantee that Sookie’s birth control – magical or medical – would stand up to that level of virility.

Reading glasses in place, Adele reviewed the documents, her years as a legal secretary standing her in good stead to understand the language without needing Harry to help translate as he usually did for Sam or Jason when they had such things to review as he tore – politely but inexorably – through the lemon squares at a steady clip.

Having reviewed the paperwork himself to ensure everything was in place, he had started making plans for a quick trip to Egypt – or anywhere _else_ really – before Maudette’s body had been found, plans he might have to change depending on how events played out.

Once in a lifetime was _enough_ to watch Adele and Sookie go at it.

With what was in those papers, he wasn’t about to stick around to watch it again and if Alcide had any self-preservation he’d make himself scarce as well.

Getting Sookie to take the master bedroom had been like pulling teeth from a rabies-infested were.

She was _not_ going to be happy about her Gran turning over the house to her.

Adele’s reasoning was sound given that taxes only ever increase instead of going down, and while both Alcide and Sookie made good money and didn’t have debts, the inheritance tax on the property – the land alone being very valuable before you took the restored house into consideration – would be considerable.  Signing over the deed before her death was simple good sense.  That it could be thirty days or thirty years before Adele eventually passed was no matter – it wasn’t as if either of the Stackhouse grandchildren would stand for her to be turned out of her own home let alone what Harry would have to say about such a thing.

The rest of the documents were a living will that would account for her burial wishes and Jason’s inheritance, along with bequests for charities, the church, and her daughter and granddaughter that lived in Monroe with their families.

All of it was in order, as Harry very well knew – Desmond did good work after all – and with quick strokes of a pen offered by Harry, Adele had them signed and then Harry was affixing his signature as a witness before collecting the copies to file to return to Cataliades in New Orleans and leaving the others with his descendant.

“Well, now that _that_ business has been taken care of.”  Adele folded her hands in front of her.  “What’s bothering you, Harry dear?”

“Events.”  Was all he said, sighing as he looked off into the distance.

“Maudette’s murder is a terrible thing.”  Adele nodded, having heard about it from several of her friends.  “Such a young woman to have her life cut short.”

“Mmm.”  Harry hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing considering all the deaths he’d seen in his lifetime he’d come to believe there was no such thing as a life cut short.  Death just _was_.  As natural as breathing or magic.  What bothered him, especially in the modern era, was how many people now died having never truly lived.  He’d grabbed hold of life with both hands, determined to wring every ounce of joy and _life_ out of it long before he’d been staring down eternity.  Medruat and that Saxon cunt had taken many things from him over the years through their curse.  He hadn’t let that be one of them.  Or else he should’ve just laid down and died in the first place.  “First Compton, then the drainers, now Maudette.”  He grimaced.  “One is chance, two happenstance, three is a pattern.  If we’re lucky, that’ll be the end of it but…”  He curled his lip at nothing – or rather a memory – before clearing his face and picking up another lemon square.  “I’ve never been a lucky soul.”

“I’d beg to differ.”  Adele sniffed, taking a sip of her tea.  “You survived ages, watched cultures rise and fall, and then once you’d been freed found and reunited with your family.  I’d say,” she smiled at him.  “That you’ve had moments of luck in your life.”

“You’re a gem among women, Adele.”  Harry grinned at her.  “But most of that was magic, not luck at all.  And magic enjoys its patterns and chaos in equal measure.  As you’ve said: I’ve watched kingdoms rise and fall, including my own.  I know the signs of fate playing games and I fear its just starting with the good town of Bon Temps and Renard Parish.  This time since the vampire riots has been a long-held breath before the plunge.”  He narrowed his eyes on the remaining squares before deciding to stop and savor them later.  “And if I’m right everyone is in danger.  Magic doesn’t care if you’re vanilla human or the oldest vampire: it’ll work on and through you just the same.”

Adele had little to say to that, the two of them having an agree-to-disagree détente in place regarding their beliefs on God – in Adele’s case – and the nature of the universe in Harry’s.

A devout Christian and a pagan sorcerer sitting down for sun tea and lemon squares with a dash of murder.

Only in the South and likely at the table of Adele Stackhouse neé Hale would such an event be a weekly event rather than a call for daggers-drawn.

“Oh, Harry.”  Adele sighed, reaching over to take and hold one impossibly strong, callused hand that she’d seen swing a punch as easily as a hammer or wipe away tears.  “You worry so.  You can’t control the world, my dear.  Or all the dangers in it.  All you can do is your best, that’s all anyone could ever ask from you.”  She smiled.  “And your best happens to be quite a bit better than most.”

Harry gave a soft chuckle, squeezing her hand lightly before pulling away to dig a box out of his pack.

“I’m glad you think so.”  He grinned incorrigibly.  “Since – if I take you at your word – doing my best means doing what I can to protect those I care about from danger.  Including you.”

“What have you done you wicked thing?”  Adele sighed, already surrendering the fight before she even entered the lists lest she make a fool of herself given her own words to her ancestor.

“Not much, in truth.”  Harry shrugged, moving aside Adele’s now-empty dessert plate and putting the jewelry folio in its place.  “I’ve taken a lot of time and care over the years to protect my family from all things magical but given recent events.”  He tapped a finger to the soft-sided pouch.  “A bit of protection against mundane dangers seems to be in order.”

Taking a bracing breath, Adele took care to open the velvet-lined pouch and reveal a truly lovely necklace of gold and lapis.

Perfect in size to sit at that base of her throat, she could tell that without even putting it on, it wouldn’t be out of place either for the everyday or for church alike, with a simple understated filigree that spoke of fine workmanship and – unless she was missing her guess – centuries old and unspeakably valuable.

Elizabethan unless she was completely mistaken.

Gently lifting the necklace in her hands, her old eyes spotted finely-etched symbols in the back of the small oval lapis gemstones, hidden from view.

“Oh, Harry dear.”  She sighed.  It truly was a beautiful piece.

“No.”  Harry held up a hand, taking the necklace from her and placing it around her neck with gentle hands.  “Don’t try and protest.  I’ve collected more jewelry in my life than seems appropriate.  Why you and your granddaughter are always fighting me on taking a few of them to keep them from moldering away in a bank vault I’ll never know.  There.”  He stepped back, smiling as the gold and lapis settled exactly in the hollow of her throat, not dangling or getting in the way.  “The runes I carved will protect you from all but the most ardent attacker and the moment they’re activated I’ll know and can come right to you.”  He rested his hands on shoulders thinning with age and pressed a kiss to snow-white hair.  “Please, Adele.  For me.  Just wear it.”

“Alright, Harry dear.”  Adele lifted one age spotted hand and patted his own.  “I will, if you do something for me in turn.”

“Anything, dear one.”

“Start living again.”  She turned her head up to meet his eyes.  “For yourself, not just us.  I could have a year or thirty – it’s impossible to know.  Before I go, I would like to see you _happy_ not just in taking care of others but for yourself.”  Her smile turned teasing as her eyes danced.  “Perhaps with a lovely young lady or handsome gentleman caller of your own now that we’ve gotten my grandchildren all married off…”

Harry laughed, lifting his hands in wordless surrender and defense from her suggestion.

“I _am_ happy Adele.”  He told her, bussing her cheek once then taking up his pack to return to his cabin to send off the signed paperwork.  “My family for the first time in centuries makes me happy.  Why muck that up with heartache?”

“Oh Harry.”  Adele sighed, shaking her head and rising to clean up the table after he’d left with the pyrex of lemon squares.  “For someone so old and wise, I’ll never understand how you can be so blind.  Love isn’t a bother – it’s _everything_.”

…

Pam was finishing her report of the interrogation of the vampire drainers and V-dealers they’d snapped up in the last days thanks to one Harry Black’s report of a pair of users, users that despite what he’d told both them and his friends, he’d obviously known were dealers at least and drainers at worst, Erik nodding and listening as Thalia entered the secured office of Fangtasia.

Soundproofed and with the only entrance to the basement which contained both sleeping quarters for Longshadow or in case of emergency for other vampires as well as the holding cell for vampire and other criminals alike, they had to sweep it every rising for bugs planted by Sophie-Anne, just in case she’d managed to bribe one of their human employees or snuck a plant into their operation, though apparently her recent attempt at keeping tabs on the most powerful vampire in her queendom had come in the dumbass form of one William Jesse Compton.

The subject of which was the reason for Thalia, who _hated_ the club and rarely was seen there other than Monday nights, preferring to meet with Erik at his home otherwise or his actual business office instead of the club he used as a front, to step one Prada-clad toe inside the place.

Arching a brow when Thalia simply stared at her, she gave a mocking little bow and took her leave.

It wasn’t like she was Erik’s Second for Area 5 or anything.

Or his only progeny.

Neither of which meant much of anything to the vampire who was only a few centuries younger than her Maker and far more powerful than Pam.

Both in their vampiric House and as a vampire.

Pam had never figured out what it was about her that had the other vampires of the House of Seth looking at her like shit on a designer shoe, and if Erik knew he’d never said, but then she’d never given it much thought either.

Whatever the fuck _their_ problem was with her, it wasn’t her problem.

It was theirs and one her Maker didn’t share.

Though given that Erik was considered a member of the second-youngest generation of the House of Seth, that didn’t necessarily _mean_ much when it came to the hierarchy.

She didn’t like to think about it much, but for all that Erik was one of the most powerful vampires in the United States and definitely the most powerful in Louisiana, he was very much considered by the older vamps of their extended family as a childe still himself, and her little more than an infant.

Still, when their progenitor was still undead and kicking in Persia or wherever the fuck Seth made his territory with his progeny and mate Hedassah as well as his second progeny Zenobia and her own mate, a vampire that Erik had told her once was so old he predated _Moses_ let alone Jesus like Godric…it rather but the matter of _age_ into perspective.

Already in a snit before she even left the office, Pam strode out to take her place on the stage throne enthralling the vermin and half-hoping some bloodbag approaches her and give her an excuse to snarl.

“That wasn’t very subtle, Thalia.”  Erik told her with an arch of a blond brow he’d taught his progeny.

“She’s a child.”  Thalia snorted as the door clicked shut, sealing them in.  “And I _don’t_ mean your childe.  You spoil her too much.”  She rolled liquid brown eyes.  “You’ve been soft towards women as long as I’ve known you Erikir, but in this I think you do her an injustice.”

“She’s young still.”  Erik waved that oft-repeated scold.  “I was an utter horror during my first two centuries.”

“You were a Viking berserker who hunted the battlefields with Death.”  Thalia shot back.  “Tossing your Maker into a stream to force him to bathe is a _bit_ different than disrespecting more powerful vampires – both of your bloodline and not – or any of the other little rudenesses you allow from her but no one else.  Hasn’t her behavior already cost you enough, I mean.”  Thalia waved her hand, encompassing the office and all it represented.  “You are _Erikir_ , companion of Death.  You don’t _belong_ in a shithole club being leered at by humans for their entertainment to pad the coffers of a petulant monarch and the Authority just because your progeny offended the wrong vampire and was placed under sanctions by the Authority.  She’s over a century.”  Thalia reminded him.  “You could release her and do something _fitting_ for a vampire of your stature and our family.”

“Are you regretting following me here, Thalia?”  Erik asked, trying to understand where the sudden outpouring had come from.  “I could promote you for the next Chancellor position with the Authority to join your mate.”

Roman lived in New Orleans along with the rest of the Chancellors of the Authority, serving as the head of the semi-religious and semi-political governing body and was the Maker of Thalia’s Maker Rasul who served their illustrious family as a spy in Queen Sophie-Anne’s court.

More importantly, Roman was the blood-brother of Erik’s Maker Godric, both turned by sadistic Appius Livius Ocella during the Julian period of Rome, Roman’s original name forgotten to time save for those who knew him then such as Godric and Pythia, Seth’s third and final progeny and the founder of the third line of Seth.

“Never.”  Thalia refuted that at once.  “Our family rises and falls together.  I would never leave you alone here with only unrelated vampires and your irritating progeny for company.  That doesn’t mean I don’t wish for everything _else_ you could do with your unlife than babysit a grown vampire who has never taken responsibility for a damn thing in either her life or her unlife.”

“Pamela is my progeny, Thalia.”  Erik reminder her, weary of the subject and wanting it closed though he knew it would always come back around another night.  “We do not abandon our progeny in this House, Thalia.”

Hearing the finality and shredding patience in Erik’s cool tone, she turned to her actual business with her Sheriff.

“The Magister will arrive next week.”  She announced, as given her status as the Guardian’s mate she liaised with the Authority, including the Magister, on Erik’s behalf.  “He originally wasn’t scheduled to be in Louisiana again until November but given the offense against a Council envoy, he’s making a special trip for Compton.”

“That’s not going to go well for Billy-Boy.”  Erik gave a vicious grin.  “Jorge can be _quite_ vicious when his plans are interrupted by another’s idiocy.”

“No, I doubt it will given all that he’s revealed under your tender loving care.”  Thalia laughed a little, even as that information burned at her.  Sophie-Anne truly was an idiot, even for a vampire monarch of only five hundred years.  This _experiment_ in the United States of allowing so many king and queens, one per state, plus the young ages involved was a train wreck waiting to happen.

Better to do things the old way, a single monarch per human country or as in Africa and the Middle East carving out large swathes of territory under one ruler.

“And the envoy?”  Erik asked, having set Thalia to a task he couldn’t entrust to Pam.  He loved his progeny and always would, but his childe lacked the subtlety and discretion needed when dealing with a creature of unknown origins as well as the knowledge of other species necessary to even know what she would be looking for.  Well.  That and the teasing would _never fucking end_ if he had her researching the delicious magic user.

“Not human.”  Thalia told him at once, with zero hesitation.  “Though _what_ he might be I can’t be certain of.  A shifter maybe, there’s a small mixed pack of shifters and weres that have settled in Bon Temps as well as a young vampire that has been fined for failing to properly check in.”  She sighed.  Makers these days _did not_ train their progeny correctly more often than not.  Beulah Carter was simply the most recent case she’d seen but certain not the first.  “She didn’t even know she needed to do so.”

“Who’s her Maker?”  Erik scowled.  Abandonment of a childe was a serious crime.

“Some idiot who ended up staked in Texas before he could train her,” Thalia waved it off.  “Not in Godric’s area, thankfully.”

Though at least if it had been, the ancient vampire would have done his research into the dead vampire and Ms. Carter would have never been left alone to struggle.

Texas, particularly Dallas, was a dangerous place for vampires despite their large population under the fair leadership of Godric and the mostly hands-off policy of the vampire King due to the asinine-but-radical anti-vampire group the pseudo-religious Fellowship of the Sun.

“You’re right about one thing with him though.”  Thalia told him.  “Black is much more powerful than he’d appeared before you – either time.  The wards around some areas of Bon Temps are rich with his scent and keep out all manner of supernatural beasties – including us.”

“Private homes?”

“Mmm.”  Thalia hummed in agreement, nodding.  “And their cemetery which is ringed in iron below ground.”

“How interesting.”  Erik steepled his fingers.  “Wary of vampires and Fae alike.  The more I hear about Harry Black the more certain I am that whatever he hides under his envoy status is world-shaking.”

“Or you just want him to shake _your_ world.”  Thalia laughed at him as she rose.  The opening was just too good.  “I’ve _seen_ Harry Black, Erik.  I’m mated, not blind: the boy’s sex on a stick dipped in Faerie dust and lust.”

Erik simply hissed at her back, grumbling to himself.

What was it about him that made all of the women in his life feel the need to tease him about Harry-fucking-Black anyway?


	8. It Pours.

** Blood Sex Magic **

****

**Chapter Seven: It Pours.**

Jorge Alonso de San Diego was over five hundred years undead and had served as Magister for North America under the aegis of the Authority since the end of the humans’ World War II.

As Magister, it was hardly the first time he’d had to put a hold on his normal rounds of the continent’s vampire territories to hear cases and adjudicate matters.

That didn’t mean he liked it, even if matters, from what Thalia had been willing to divulge over phone and email, promised to be interesting at the very least though could devolve into a headache of worthy of the bleeds at the worst.

Anything to do with the council was usually this way he’d found since being turned in Spain during the Inquisition where he’d been a priest and one of the finest interrogators ever trained.

His calling, as it had always been, was to root out subversives and serve the common good.

This idiot Compton, who he _had_ seen before his court in the past when many vampires avoided such things at more than ten times his age, had managed to engage in activities directly counter to the mandates of the Authority and the Council itself, giving Jorge the _in_ he’d been looking for for some time to bring his calling to the court of the Queen of Louisiana.

He was certain the little brat had thrown one hell of a fit when she’d gotten her summons along with her only progeny André as well as most of her Court to attend him at the empty warehouse the Authority kept on the border between the royal “seat”/territory of Area 1: New Orleans and the surrounding Area 2 that included Baton Rouge and most of South-Eastern Louisiana, probably on par with the one the AVL spokesvampire Nan Flanagan had pitched at her own summons.

It seemed from the interrogation tapes – unaltered – that Pamela had made of William’s questioning and turned over with the paperwork for Compton’s trial by Thalia that William had been attempting to play all ends against the middle.

Jorge could appreciate that sort of cunning in a vampire.

If only his grasping sort of low cunning hadn’t run directly contrary to the mandates of the Authority.

He would’ve been curious to see how Nan attempted to deliver on her promises to young Bill.

Now he just needed to know how many territories and kingdoms she’d played her little games of installing puppet regimes with.

None of the _old_ kingdoms, that went without saying.

But with the experiment of one king or queen per state in the U.S., some of those monarchs being very young indeed, he wouldn’t put it passed the power-hungry bitch to have planted more than _one_ figurehead in a throne in the New World.

The Roman was going to have to find himself a new spokes-vamp to appease the cows.

Perhaps they’ll do a better job this time in choosing, given that even Jorge found Nan’s performance often cold and unapproachable and he was another vampire.

She’d done nothing at all for advancing the mainstreaming cause other than reiterating the same tired talking points and endless rounds of go-nowhere debates with Reverend Steve Newlin that only gave exposure to his “cause” of eradicating vampires under the cover of the Bible.

Jorge knew the Bible.

As a former priest he knew it better than most, having read it in Latin and Greek before it was further translated into English and mangled in the process.

Newlin didn’t have a leg to stand on from a Biblical perspective but never had Jorge known information be an effective weapon against zealotry.

The Great Revelation had taken its toll on his people, south of the Mexico-United States border worse than anywhere else.  They couldn’t _afford_ a useless spokes-vamp in the AVL as they struggled to gain equal protections under human law as they dealt with an influx of a full _half_ of the vampire population of South and Latin America decamping from the territories there, a third of which had made their way to the United States.  Last count had it at an immigration of around ninety-five thousand vampires scattered among the kingdoms of the United States, with an equal number preferring Canada where they _already_ had some protections with more to come if they passed the “Sentient Beings Act” meanwhile the States couldn’t do more than take their tax money and make empty promises.

Well, he laughed to himself.

He supposed in that way the US government system _was_ treating them exactly the same as they did their human citizens.

The remaining portion fled to the old kingdoms of Europe, Africa, and Asia where the ancients welcomed them with resignation having seen _that_ coming from a mile away, while despite human reporting, almost no _actual_ vampire deaths or refugees were coming from the Middle East.

As if the House of Seth would allow such a thing.

_That_ was a human supposition that other than a few outliers that King Seth of Persia was likely glad to be rid of, there had been widespread deaths of vampires in the Middle East.

Between the ruling King of Persia – and yes, they still called it that – and the Queen of Assyria who were a mated pair of Maker and Progeny, there was no danger to vampires coming from the Middle East.

They had ruled the sands and mountains and fields from Iran to the Mediterranean Sea for seven thousand years – give or take – from their joint seat of Nineveh, they weren’t about to lose one ounce of that power over fleshlings throwing a hissy fit.

Jorge knew where his interests – and those of any vampire of _sense_ laid – and it was allied to the House of Seth who ruled over vampires from antiquity to the Authority.

Honestly, he was surprised that a few of them have been allowed to bury themselves in the dirt of New World in the first place but he supposed when you were older than Moses let alone Julius Caesar, vampires like Erik and Thalia were children to them and allowed freedom to test their own skills and abilities and boundaries before settling into an unlife of rule.

Oh yes, Sophe-Anne LeClerq had had _every_ reason to be terrified of having Erik Northman as a Sheriff within her queendom, if only because of the way she _treated_ her sheriffs, underlings, and citizens alike as either minions or toys to sate her every whim and placate her every desire.

Nan was just too damn blinded by her own ambitions to realize that one did _not_ attempt to fuck over a family of vampires that made up, collectively, twelve out of two hundred of the last “true” ancients – beings over two thousand years old – with another four ancients over a thousand years old and three master vampires over five hundred years old.

A third of vampires turned don’t make it passed the first year.

Of those that survived, only ten percent lived to five hundred, one percent to a thousand, and given that there were millions of vampires world wide and only two hundred true ancients, well.

The odds of Nan coming out of a cat fight with the House of Seth intact had never been good and that was before she picked a damn vicious fool of a weapon against Erik Northman.

Seth had been selective in turning his first progeny and had only turned three total in his estimated eleven thousand years of unlife, the most of any member of his House with almost all only turning a single progeny thus far with a few turning a pair.

Many Makers in the old days preferred quality over quantity and held the blood of their people as utterly sacred.

Jorge’s job would be a hell of a lot easier if younger vampires would do the same, running into a philosophy of quantity over quality nowadays more often than not.

A thought broke through his reverie, Jorge sending off a text to Thalia.

Compton had involved the Council in this little comedy of deadly errors.

It would be quite _rude_ of Jorge to exclude them from the final act.

…

“Looks like you’re going to get to see your pretty little sorcerer soon, Master.”  Pam smirked as she vamped into Erik’s home to meet with him for the trial.

Longshadow would have the bar in hand while Keith and James “escorted” Bill to the warehouse, leaving Pam to accompany her maker, Thalia likely leaving from New Orleans.

That the child Queen still hadn’t caught wise to the Guardian’s mate being on the books as a resident of Area 5, and Thalia _was_ one of Erik’s trusted underlings, but actually lived in the Authority headquarters with her mate was proof of just how little Sophie-Anne actually _knew_ about what went on in her territory.

Technically, a vampire was supposed to be registered under the territory where they _lived_ not where they worked.

And no one wanted to pay the extortionate taxes the Queen imposed on Area 1 where the royal seat was at the moment along with the Authority’s headquarters, though the latter being above the monarchies didn’t pay a cent in taxes to the Queen, many vampires choosing to live in Area 2 which bordered New Orleans on all sides rather than deal with her imposed taxes, though after Erik had followed Pam into her Authority-mandated exile in Shreveport and taken up the seat of Sheriff more and more vampires have moved to Erik’s Area, over twelve hundred in total, making it the second most populous territory in residents behind Area 2 and the second-smallest in total territory after the royal seat of New Orleans proper.

“Hmm?”  Erik frowned as he sped through a shower and dressing in his preferred all-leather though as he wouldn’t be at the club he went for natural deerskin instead of his black-dyed leathers.  It was one thing he enjoyed about the current era – one could dress mostly as they damned well pleased.  Much more pleasant than the doublets and hose from the Middle Ages or roughspun if one wasn’t displaying wealth.

“The Magister has summoned the envoy for the trial.”  Pam appeared in the mirror behind him, wrinkling her nose a little at the plain tan leather.  “Thalia has already sent the message onto the breather.  So, it has to be asked.”  She arched a brow as she met his crystalline gaze in the old silvered glass.  “Is that _really_ what you’re wearing?”

…

“Motherfucker!”  Harry screamed into his pillow after he’d read the text that had woken him up from his nap.

Keeping the local vampires at arm’s length worked great, until it didn’t.

Now he had a Master vampire on the cusp of being an ancient sniffing around Bon Temps, a murder still to solve, and now to add the proverbial cherry: a summons from the Magister of North America regarding Bill Compton.

Seriously, ever since he’d saved Julian in the 1100’s it was like he was a fucking vampire _beacon_ , managing to stay out of the way while Jason and Sookie were growing up was a damn miracle but now it seemed like the universe was trying to make up for it by throwing the pale-skinned creatures in his path or him in theirs every chance it got.

If he didn’t know she wasn’t one for _active_ meddling, he’d think the Ancient Pythoness was using her power to fuck with him.  At least, that was what Toth had told him regarding Pythia, once oracle of Delphi, and his own few meetings with the High Council had seemed to bear it out.  Niall on the other hand…yeah that begrudging bastard would throw him under the bus to keep vamps away and unaware of the remaining Fae in a blink.

At least Sookie and Alcide were back from their honeymoon, he could count on them to look after things with Sam while he was away.

Leaving town for a night or possibly more depending on if things _dragged_ as they could with immortal beings and their skewed sense of time with a murderer running loose wasn’t the best timing he could have had but unless he wanted to out himself as the Council Mage and not an envoy he had no other choice.

Unburying his head from his buckwheat kernel pillows – he never could get used to the softer kind after the flat dried husks or feathers that were used for the first portion of his life – he hit a few buttons and sent off a couple texts to Sam and Alcide, letting them know that he’d be gone for the night, telling them not to worry unless he was gone without contact for longer than two days.  Then rising, he snapped himself clean and dressed with a flick of his fingers, with a cream suit, emerald green waistcoat, and cream silk shirt threaded with pale mint stripes wrapping in a smooth and perfect fit around his body.  Summoning socks and leather ankle boots from his closet, he reluctantly shod himself, then selected gold cufflinks with the Council Mage sigil of a stylized dragon upon them, each dragon holding either an emerald or a diamond in its maw and perfectly matching the envoy signet ring he set in place on his left middle finger.

He paused as he snapped up his car keys, eyeing a precaution he used at various times when a cane was fashionable, only his was solid ivory rather than made of lacquered wood, the natural scent of the elephant bone hiding the slightly-shortened enchanted silver rapier hidden inside the elegantly carved length.

Shrugging, since this was a summons by a Magister and not a Sheriff, he took it up and walked a few steps around his living room, refamiliarizing himself with the affectation with its golden wolf’s head set with Alexandrite eyes.

Sighing and shoring up his mental defenses to prepare for a night spent either being patronized for being a “breather” or verbally dancing with the Magister, if not threatened outright, Harry locked his cabin and raised the wards in preparation for him being out of immediate contact, making them more _aggressive_ against any threat than they would be normally, and slid into the driver’s seat not of his Jeep but a vehicle he kept only for when he had to make an _Impression_ on those he was meeting and the rest of the time stayed hidden under spellwork in his garage.

A Bugatti Veyron 16.4, the most expensive car in the world at the moment at over a million dollars, if it weren’t for the spellwork he’d layered onto the chasis it would have been torn up on the backcountry roads.

As it was, his baby was as pristine as it was the day it was delivered to his door straight from the factory with his design customizations.

And given the 1001 horsepower engine, the vampires would hear him coming from miles away.

_Quiet_ it was not.

Fast and flash, however?

Oh yeah.

…

“As I live and don’t breathe.”  Jorge shook his head incredulously at the vision that had strode in fine linen and silk with a cane in hand and gold at his cuffs and upon his hand, a marked different from the last time he saw this particular person.  “Wymond Cecil?  It’s been…”

“Ages, I know.”  Harry cut him off with a knowing arch of his brow.  What were the fucking odds that the vampire Magister of North America wasn’t just someone who’d known him in a different time and under a different name, but also one who’d met him as a human?  “I go by Harry Black, envoy of the Council, now, Father de San Diego.”

“Ah.”  Jorge smirked, nearly _feeling_ the frustration arising from a few of the tribunal vampires as well as those summoned.  “And I as Magister of the Authority.  We shall have to check up after all of this,” he waved an airy hand.  “Unpleastantness.  Though.”  He scowled at the crowd, missing a very recognizable ginger head.  “André!”  He snapped at the Queen’s progeny.  “Where is your Maker?”

“Momentarily detained, Magister.”  The ever-loyal childe of Sophie-Anne replied.  “She should be here soon.”

“Then, we shall continue to _wait_.”  He said, voice silky with threat.  “With my patience and good nature wearing away with every last moment your Queen keeps me, am I understood?”

“Yes, Magister.”  André replied, paling as much as was possible for a vampire, already taking out his phone to type a frantic message to the Queen’s twin Saxon vampire guards Wybert and Wymot.  “You are understood.”

“Excellent.”  He nodded, then hopped down from the warehouse dais to Harry’s side.  “Now, we all heard a rather impressive piece of machinery proceed your entrance, Envoy Black.  If it isn’t an imposition, could I take a look while we _wait?”_

Erik grumbled softly under his breath in Old Swedish, both Pam and Thalia exchanging a _look_ behind his back at the male posturing over having another, unallied vampire standing near the sorcerer.

Thalia’s mate was waiting nearby, not wanting to make his entrance as Guardian and High Chancellor of the Authority until all the players were in place.

It wouldn’t do to have Sophie-Anne take flight.

Nan shifted and snarled under her breath about petulant Queens as she typed on her phone, trying to salvage _something_ from the night, even as the Magister stepped outside the warehouse with a human magic-user, one who before this night many of the vampires gathered for the tribunal didn’t even know existed, let alone knew a vampire so highly placed as the Magister of North America.

In their defense, _Harry_ didn’t know he knew the Magister of North America, so they were even on that score.

Outside next to his blue and black Veyron, Harry held up his hand in a wordless signal to wait, then traced a glowing rune in the air, which once finished whirled around them in a quick circle before dissipating.

“Now we can speak, Magister.”  Harry announced, each male settling their cane before them and resting their hands lightly upon the head, a wordless gesture of non-violence that each knew from days gone by.

“You’re not the envoy.”  Jorge smirked, enjoying the deception.  Especially since he seems to be the only one to have caught on.  “You’re the Council Mage, aren’t you Wymond or Harry or whatever your name _truly_ is.”

“I am.”  Harry admitted easily.  “And if you must know, properly it is Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii.”

“Well, that’s a fucking mouthful.”  Jorge blinked.  “And old as shit.  Compton really stepped in it this time, I see.”  Then his eyes narrowed as something clicked.  “You tried to sink my ship.”

That storm had just _felt_ off and two others in that convoy from Spain to England had fallen to the depths.

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes extravagantly.  “I sank a _lot_ of ships in those days, Jorge.  You weren’t anything special.  Christians of any stripe weren’t my favorite, though now they’re so prevalent holding a grudge is an exercise in futility I don’t often indulge in anymore.  Saxons though…”  He pondered, then nodded.  “Still hate those cunts.  The real ones, not their watered-down descendants.”

“The Northman suspects something is off.”  Jorge told him.  “Another wouldn’t have noticed, but given who I am I know when I’m being prevaricated to.  His claims and charges were all carefully shaded to not draw attention to you beyond your role as envoy.”

“Which ended up doing just that.”  Harry sighed, giving a mental shrug.  “Our little teté-a-teté isn’t going to help matters either.”

“Your Regency is showing, Harry.”

“Fuck it.”  The Englishman – since before that was a cultural or national identity – replied.  “I’ve had to transition through more language shifts than even some of your kind’s true ancients.  You’re lucky it was only into the Regency I slipped and not all the way back to Cumbric or Cumbrian or another “dead” language.”

“Word of advice.”  Jorge offered as the sound of a car moving closer had them returning to the warehouse before the petulant Queen could arrive.  “Don’t let on around the languages around Northman or any of his people.”

“Why?”

“Do you speak any of the old Scandinavian languages?”  Jorge asked in turn.  “Or pre-Basque Gallic maybe?”

“You mean…”

“Mhmm.”  Jorge smirked, viciously pleased at helping get one over on the Northman, which was about as devious as he could really be towards a House he allied with.  “He likes to use languages no one else knows to relay orders to his progeny or trusted people.”

Something to think about, Harry supposed, as he took the place Jorge pointed him to which had him seated a step down and towards the back of the dais his chair was placed upon for the tribunal, giving him an excellent view of the gathered vampires as well as the open center for the accused or witnesses.

That it also took him out of easy line of attack was clear to see and made a point to the gathered vampires: Harry was there under the Magister’s summons and therefore his protection.

Which given some of the content of the coming trial or trials depending on how things shook out, was a distinction he was glad Jorge made instead of leaving him at the mercy of the Northman or another vampire as recompense over the ship-sinking thing.

Though as he saw who’d followed the redhead into the warehouse, a rumbling growl starting in his chest only to be cut off with a sharp glance from the Magister, he realized it was _also_ recompense for the ship-sinking thing as it kept him from being able to – overly – fuck with the Saxon cunts that trailed after their little Queen like good obedient drones.

Harry would recognize those braids combined with the right sense of _age_ that came off them any-fucking-where aside from the typical features of the Saxons being rawer-boned than the refined lines of most of the Briton tribes after four centuries of inter-breeding with the Romans, along with their own natural looks.

“Down, boy.”  The Magister muttered in Latin.  “You can’t kill them…yet.”

Though whether that came into being was entirely up to how embroiled in Sophie-Anne’s fuck-ups the twin Saxon warriors were.

The vampires of the tribunal who knew Latin took in the growl and warning with varying reactions, though only in the case of Erik and Thalia did it start filling in some lines in the picture they were putting together of the English council envoy.  Barring a direct issue between the envoy and either Sophie-Anne or her Saxons, with the latter being more likely thanks to the plural, there was only one thing that would account for such an immediate reaction to some of the only vampires that were readily placed into an era of history.  Godric was another for his tattoos, much like Erik for his height and looks, making many consider them either very young or very old.  The Saxon twins were another as they steadfastly refused to let go of their origins to blend better with modern society, much like many of the true ancients in the old world.

An English sorcerer who didn’t care for Saxons, Erik mused, placed him either as much older than any human _should be_ or having a family that carried grudges for centuries…or both.

Piece by piece, the puzzle that was Harry Black was starting to come clear, and the more Erik learned the more he wanted to learn and the more fascinating he found the intoxicating creature.  Vampires form obsessions, it was true.  The King of Mississippi was known to be a collector.  Sophie-Anne with daylight. Pam and her shoes.  Sometimes innocuous, other times not, Erik’s had long been vengeance for his human family.

Harry Black, however, was starting to take up equal space in Erik’s thoughts.

Thankfully, vampires were the world’s best multitaskers thanks to the unique organization of their mental “vault”, allowing him to shift his focus on Harry Black to the back of his thoughts as the Magister called the tribunal to order.

“Ms. LeClerq, thank you _ever so much_ ,” Jorge sneered at the haughty redhead.  “For making time out of your _busy_ schedule to attend the summons issued by The Authority.”

Before Sophie-Anne could open her pouty lipsticked mouth and land herself in even hotter water than she currently was, her progeny André vamped to her side and tugged her over towards the grouping of her Court that was taking up the center portion of the risers set up in an arc around the open center and facing the Magister’s dais, hissing something into her ear too soft for even Erik, the oldest vampire present to hear and making her pout become set even firmer upon her pretty face.

Vampires were _so fucking vain_ , Harry rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.  They – at least most of them – turned only the most attractive specimens they could find to give the “gift” of their Making.  More often than not, that meant vampires were rather young for the most part, with some stuck permanently in the same mindset as their human age, which he gathered after recently raising a pair of human teenagers together with Adele, was the case with the Queen of Louisiana.

Other vampires, ones with _sense_ to levy their vanity like his friends Toth and Julian, selected for intelligence or wisdom or some other useful trait in their progeny instead of selecting for looks alone.

Don’t get him wrong – they were as vain as the next vampire regarding the beauty of their progeny and their House – but they tended to add at least _some_ brains to the mixture if only to keep from killing their own creations out of sheer frustration.

Somehow Harry wouldn’t be surprised to find that Sophie-Anne had been released at the soonest allowable moment under vampire law by her Maker.

Without ever having spoken to her or heard her speak, he already could tell from the _looks_ on the faces of the other vampires present as well as her audacity in showing up late to a summons from her Magister that she was an irritating bint.

It made him curious how she’d been made a Queen in the first place, let alone kept the crown on her pretty head if she made a habit of insulting those more powerful than herself…unless she was one of those blinded-by-their-own-magnificence types of rulers that didn’t comprehend that there _was_ someone more powerful than herself.

Those were always a _joy_ to deal with.

Especially since, no matter what anyone else thought, there was _always_ someone more powerful, or if not, then someone with enough _motivation_ to snap their neck if you rubbed them the wrong way.

Harry would know.

He wasn’t bound by someone _more_ powerful after all, but through sheer bullheadedness and endless spite.

“Bring forth the accused.”  Jorge gave the order that had several things happening at once as hidden vampires who had been just outside the warehouse or inserted within the tribunal crowd sprang into action under the cover of the bloodthirsty surprise that riled up the gathered vampires at the sight of the cargo van that had been sitting innocuously to one side was opened from the back, revealing the stench of blood and silver.

Northman’s enforcers Keith and James jumped down from the back of the van, manhandling Compton who had been removed from the silver cage he’d been kept in by Harry but not from the fine silver netting that the older vampires recognized as the work of a sorcerer as nothing but magical workmanship could spin silver so fine but still have it retain enough tensile strength to hold a vampire, even a young one like Compton.

It was the sort of thing that had disappeared in time with the Fae removing almost solely to Faerun or one of the other Faerie dimensions and with the Catholic church doing a fine job of wiping out the magical bloodlines of Western Europe.

At first many of the vampires alive during the magical wars and the advance of the church had been ecstatic to see them go.

Vampires, after all, were the single weakest species against magic, having almost no natural defenses against it.

Then they realized: the loss of so many magicals _also_ lost them the magical protections that the sorcerers and mages could place over vampire home as well as the magical workmanship that made life easier and more luxurious for the vampires that could afford it.

A threat was gone yes – but so were many other aspects of magical humans that they had benefitted from.

Especially their blood.

Not as intoxicating as Fae, the blood of a magical human willingly given strengthened a vampire like little else other than Maker’s blood or the blood of a true ancient and for the same reason: vampires ran on magic and magical _humans_ were ripe with it from the air they breathed to the food they ate to the blood they shed.

While the crowd was distracted by the torture of Compton or marveling at magical craftsmanship, the hidden Authority enforcers moved: snapping silver collars and manacles around the necks and wrists of Nan Flanagan, Sophie-Anne, André, and Sophie-Anne’s guards when the twin Saxons moved to attack.

Nan screeched in shock and protest, spluttering something about not having the _authority_ to imprison her, only to come to a stuttering halt as her attacker fisted a hand in the silver chain attached to the collar and brought her to her knees beside the bloody and burned form of Compton then removed his hood, revealing that he _very fucking much did_ have the authority to imprison her.

He was her boss after all.

And Jorge’s boss.

And Sophie-Anne’s and _everyone_ under the aegis of the Authority.

For he was the Guardian of the Blood and High Chancellor of the Authority: The Roman, now known as Roman Zimojic, his original name lost to time beyond those who were around to know it, and closest thing to a High King as existed over the vampires of the Americas.

The Old World had their Kings and Queens over wide swathes of territory and their true ancients who ruled with iron fangs.

The New World had Roman.

Harry arched a brow at the sight of another ancient vampire as the gathered vampires all went to their knees in deference, not moving a muscle even as Roman came to sit at Jorge’s side upon the dais on the opposite side from Harry, one of his guards moving an empty chair from the shadows, the old vampire only allowing the younger vampires the right to rise after he’d seated himself with a fussy twitch of his long fine-wool overcoat and crossed his legs.

“Rise.”  Roman ordered, the guards keeping the accused on their knees.  “Continue, Magister.”

“By your leave, Guardian.”  Jorge nodded his head to the side then turned towards the group of kneeling vampires.  “Well, let’s get this show on the road shall we?  It wouldn’t do to keep our auspicious guests waiting…”


	9. Kings or Pawns

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Eight: Kings or Pawns, Emperors and Fools**

“Best to start at the beginning.”  Jorge announced, his voice easily carrying to the advanced senses of the gathered vampires.  “William Compton.  You have been before me before as I recall.”  He toyed with his cane absently.  “For flagrant draining of humans in such an _indiscrete_ manner with your Maker that you risked exposing all of vampire kind.”

“Yes, Magister.”  Bill managed to say, a sharp kick from the guard at his back prompting him to answer the implied question despite the massive pain that kept his mind clouded and body weak.  He’d not had more than a few ounces of TruBlood every wakening since being taken by that _damned_ sorcerer and presented to Northman.

Oh, and how’d they will _both pay_ once he was free!

Bill was, apparently, in too much pain to realize or notice that either of the females he was hoping would save his skin and intervene were kneeling in silver bonds of their own, though none so intricate and encompassingly painful as his own.

Pamela and the others had had to be _creative_ to interrogate him given the limited exposure they had to his body, but still…they’d managed.

“You testified at the time that your Maker commanded you to behave in such a manner and as a result could not be held culpable.”  Jorge continued.  “As punishment Ms. Krasiki was forced to Release you and was returned to her own Maker István for retraining.  And now, not even two decades later, here you are again, at perhaps the most vital and delicate portion of the history of our species, causing more problems.”  He tsked.  “And ones of much more significance than draining your way through a Nevada brothel.  Bad form, Mr. Compton.  Truly: bad form.”

When Bill opened his mouth to defend himself, he found himself quickly silenced by a boot to the back of his head sending him slamming face-down onto the plain concrete of the warehouse, more than one vampire hissing in excitement or chuckling in pleasure at the visible pain the blow caused him.

Erik found himself torn between the two as his progeny smirked with glee, her vicious joy echoing through their bond.

Meanwhile, Harry sat indolent and stone-faced in his chair, twirling his ivory cane with its hidden _surprise_ over and over through his nimble fingers and being rather unknowingly distracting to more than a few vampires at the sight he made.

“The charges,” Jorge called, reading from the Blackberry he took from his suit jacket.  “My you have been a busy boy, haven’t you Mr. Compton?”  He commented on the list then continued.  “Originally presented to your Sheriff by Envoy Black are as follows: Encroachment upon the protected home of an Envoy of the Council; Attempt to Glamour an Envoy of the Council; Trespassing upon the claimed territory of an Envoy of the Council;” Jorge arched a brow and turned his head to comment in-sidebar to Roman: “Haven’t seen one of those in my tenure as a Magister.”

“It doesn’t happen very often.”  Roman replied, arching his brows in surprise.  “Last case was in…”  He narrowed his eyes, visibly flipping through the information in his memory vault.  “1762 I believe.”

“Interesting.”  Jorge turned back to his Blackberry and continued with the show.  “And Murder of a Human Descendant with the purpose of Claiming the property of an Envoy of the Council.”  Jorge commented to the Civil War vampire.  “As I said Compton: bad form.  Additional charges levied by Sheriff Erik Northman of Louisiana’s Area Five after receiving the vampire William Jesse Compton into his keeping are as follows: Failure to Present himself to the Sheriff of an Area upon entering his Territory; Collusion to Obtain information sensitive to the Vampire community; Attempting to Subvert the Authority of a Sheriff; Attempting to Subvert the Authority of a Monarch; Collusion to unseat a dually-selected Monarch; and High Treason against the Authority.”

Gasps and hisses resounded as it became _quite clear_ both why Roman had decided to attend a trial for a relatively insignificant vampire as well as who might be Compton’s partners in his treasonous activities, even Harry arching a brow at what all one dumbass vampire had gotten himself involved in.

“I must say, Sheriff Northman.”  Jorge told the Viking as he once again pocketed his Blackberry.  “I do admire the _thorough_ nature of your charges and the investigation as a whole.  It warms my dead Inquisitor’s heart.”

“Thank you, Magister.”  Erik nodded, arms folded across his chest.  “Area Five lives to serve the Authority in whatever manner is deemed suitable.”

“As it should be.”  Jorge nodded genially.  “As it should be.  Now.”  He clapped his hands together in glee.  “What do you have to say for yourself Compton?  Do you deny that you conspired with Nan here to overthrow the Queen of Louisiana by spreading misinformation and seeding discontent among the areas of her monarchy?  That you in turn conspired with said Queen to gather information not just on the vampires of her territory and save it into a computer _database_ that could have caused a massive hemorrhage of sensitive information if ever discovered but _also_ on the various supernatural species that also reside in the state of Louisiana.  That you did, in fact, kill your last living descendant in order to lay claim to his estate under the new laws, laws which, I remind you, have been a long two year fight with human politicians to enact?  Well?”  He barked.  “Answer the charges which have landed you here before me, Compton!”

“I…I can’t…”  Bill stuttered.  If only he could just _think!_

“We will take your silence as guilt in these matters.”  Jorge announced dismissively.  He really could give less of a fuck over one stain on vampire kind that would shortly be rectified.  It was the shaking-in-their-Prada pair next to him that had his true attention.  Sophie-Anne would slide out of losing her head and likely her crown, for the moment at least, but she knew she was in for it.  Nan on the other hand was far too nonchalant for a vampire that was sure to lose her damn head.  No matter.  It would all come out in the end.  “Normally your offenses against a Council Envoy would have you being turned over to the Council for justice _but_ ,” Jorge took a great deal of pleasure in crushing the hope blooming in Compton’s bloodshot eyes.  “As Envoy Black turned you over for vampire justice those charges will be added to the sentencing of your other crimes.  Treason.”  Jorge hissed, leaning forward, fangs clicking into place.  “Is punishable by the True Death.  However, your other crimes make you deserving of a far worse fate than a mere stake to the heart.  Envoy Black?”  Jorge turned to the sorcerer.  “Would you care to take care of this small matter so we can move forward?  The ancient manner of your people I think would serve as his first offenses were against you and yours.”

“Oh, it would be my most devout pleasure, Magister.”  Harry purred, rising to his feet in the slow graceful movement of a man who had spent nearly all his life on one battlefield or another, predatory menace so strong as to be nearly its own scent pouring off of his strong frame as he descended the dais with the ease of the king he once was as he clicked his fingers and had Compton rising overhead and floating to the far side of the warehouse, far enough away from the others of his kind so as not to catch any other up in his coming spectacle.  “You know.”  He said to Compton idly as he waved the cane in his hand, conjuring a sight to chill the vampires around them: a stake upon a pyre.  “I do miss the old days at times, Mr. Compton.  Days before treaties and diplomacy between the species.  When rather than turn you into your Sheriff I could have lit you up then and there with nary a thought.  Still.”  He sighed as he set Compton down in place on the pyre and had the silver mesh shifting and reforming into thick silver chains strapping him in place.  “Needs must and what _interesting_ things have come about as a result.”

“Who is he, really?”  Roman leaned over and murmured quiet enough to Jorge that only Erik was able to hear, not that Roman minded if his blood-brother’s progeny overheard.  Rather, he though the Viking needed to know if the hungry glances Erik hadn’t been able to hide from _him_ though he did the others and the object of them were any sign.

“I have a name,” Jorge murmured back, even as his gaze was rapt on the sorcerer who was teaching a master class in thou-shalt-not-fuck-with-a-mage to the younger vampires.  “Though I gather it might mean more to you than it did to me other than giving me an impression of age.  I knew him as a human myself and can honestly say that he doesn’t seem to have aged a day in over five hundred years.”

“And the name?”  Roman asked, face keen.  There had been _rumors_ after all…and he hoped it would explain the text he’d received from Pythia: _Keep the Mage close._

“Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii.”

Brown eyes shooting wide were the only sign that the Roman recognized _that_ name, though it was noted by both Jorge and Erik as they split their attention between the Mage and the Roman as Black added bundles of herbs to the silver-soaked brush at the base of the pyre.

Harry was _really fucking pissed off_ at Compton and going all-out, explaining step by step to his enchanted audience and the horrified forms of Compton and his conspirators, going into excruciating detail over what each step would do to the young vampire once Harry lit the flames of the pyre for Compton to burn.

“That _can’t_ be possible.”  Roman breathed, shaking his head a bit.

“Why not?”  Jorge asked, voice laced with amusement.  “We’re here, why not something else could survive so long with magic?”

“It’s not that.”  Roman disputed Jorge’s assumption that his problem was with a mage managing immortality.  It was well known that Myrddin Wyllt had lived to be over six hundred years old before dying in the tenth century after all, the last true Council Mage despite others holding the title since.  “It’s who _Gwrtheryn_ _of the Cornovii_ was, not that the Cornovii haven’t existed as a tribe since the fourth century.”

“Who was he?”

“The only son and child of Artōrius Aurelianus.”  Roman blew out an unneeded breath.  “And grandson of Myrddin Wyllt.  He disappeared from the histories after a battle against Medraut the Mad Mage when he was twenty-six years old.  No sign of him was ever found.”

“Well,” Jorge chuckled.  “It’s been found now…if he is who he says he is.”

Roman rolled his eyes at that, ignoring where his blood-brother’s progeny seemed to have fallen into downtime over what he’d overheard.  Good.  Served the eavesdropper right.

“No mage or sorcerer would make that claim without being able to back it up, Magister.”  He reminded him, leaning forward as _Harry Black_ summoned a fireball, bouncing it idly in hand – one of the powers attributed to the last Mage of the Cornovii.  “I’d say if confronted…he could do just that.”

Unaware of the discussion going on behind him, Harry paced all around the pyre checking his preparations.

It had been some time since he’d done this after all.

The wood was yew, it would burn slow and cold giving the silver-coating and the herbs time to do their jobs before finally finishing the vampire.  Silver particles from the coating would rise with the smoke and coat Compton’s airways, burning him from the inside out while the herb – vervain – would force all of the blood from his body.  He would be nothing but sticks, leather, and madness by the time the fire took him.

An old punishment for a vampire that dared drink a magic user against their will, in this case he had no problem using it on the behalf of the Authority to drive home the point of not fucking with him and his.

“William Jesse Compton.”  Harry’s voice resounded through the warehouse.  “You have been weighed.  You have been measured.  And you have been found guilty of offenses against magic’s children by your own kind.  As such, I, Harry Black Envoy of the Council, carry out your sentencing.”

With that, he wound up and threw the fireball he’d been playing with – and taunting Compton with – onto the pyre, the seasoned wood and accelerant catching immediately as Harry used a breeze to control the smoke and keep it cycling around him in a choking cloud.

His screams didn’t last long.

It was hard to scream without vocal cords after all, and the silver was viciously efficient as the smoke poured into him.

To the watching vampires, the quiet was worse than the screams, as all they could hear thereafter were choking cries and coughing breaths.

It was almost a relief when the flames reached his feet and quickly climbed to engulf him and Harry banished the smoke cloud out of the warehouse to dissipate in the natural breezes of the air.

Once nothing remained of William Compton but a smudge stain on the pyre, Harry smothered the flames and banished the pyre, leaving nothing behind at all.

It was as if Bill Compton had never _been_ beyond the impression his final death left on the tribunal witnesses.

…

“You certain you want to get mixed up in a human that can deep-fry you with a thought, Master?”  Pam asked in Old Swedish, both entertained and repulsed by the show.

Thalia snorted.  “Please.”  She responded as Erik snapped out of his shock at what his Maker’s blood-brother had discussed with the Magister in time to enjoy the spectacle of watching Compton burned alive.  “His people would break open ribs and remove lungs to watch you suffocate.  Erikír is made of sterner materials than most.  He can handle a little singe around the edges.”

“Sentence passed and executed.”  The Magister noted, completing the forms on his Blackberry with relish then calling: _“Next!”_   One of the guards standing watch over the accused pushing Nan forward.

“Ah yes, Ms. Flanagan, the Authority’s spokes-vampiress for the American Vampire League.”  Jorge announced, amused that the scheming pain-in-his-ass had finally gotten caught in her own web, Harry passing by him with a hidden eye-roll for Jorge alone as Nan started back up with her protests as he returned to his seat.

Most of which seemed to revolve around the theme of _she’s on television!_

“Yes,” Roman sneered.  “And a _fantastic_ job you’re doing with that.  In case it hasn’t been made clear to you Nan by the silvering and the cuffs, consider yourself relieved of your position with the AVL effective immediately.”

That, _finally_ , seemed to shut her up, bulbous blue eyes frantically blinking in a human gesture she didn’t have any need for other than appearing human or as a holdover response to shock.

“Ms. Flanagan, you are hereby charged with:,” Jorge began.  “Attempting to Subvert the Authority of a Sheriff; Attempting to Subvert the Authority of a Monarch; Collusion to unseat a dually-selected Monarch; Attempting to Subvert the Authority of The Authority; and High Treason against the Authority.  Not quite as comprehensive a list as your latest pawn, I’ll grant but still rather impressive nonetheless.”

“You can’t _seriously_ be bringing me up on charges on the strength of Compton’s testimony alone!”  Nan protested, to which there _were_ murmurs in the tribunal witnesses in favor of her point.

“Sheriff Northman?”  Jorge asked with a wave of his hand.  “Would you be so kind as to present the evidence.  I find my patience _tried_ at the moment.”

“My pleasure, Magister.”  Erik gave a clipped, brief bow and accepted the file from Pam, placing pictures down in front of Nan as he explained what had been discovered since Compton’s last and most desperate attempt at bluffing his way out of trouble by revealing the connection between himself and the AVL spokeswoman.  “No Sheriff worth their position would levy such charges against a highly-placed Authority representative without proof _other_ than a proven traitor’s word.  Beginning was simple enough as Compton was more than _eager_ to provide information on his _work_ at your behest in Louisiana, including knowledge of your _assistance_ to making Sophie-Anne Queen before you realized how very uncontrollable a pawn she would be after she obtained her throne.  Tell me.”  Erik mused "does the name István mean anything to you, Ms. Flanagan?”

“No…”

“Curious.  Because your name meant something to him.”  Erik paced around the shackled forms at his feet with predatory case as he outlined _his_ case against them.  “István happens to be the Maker of Lorena Krasiki, who in turn Made one William Jesse Compton.  He also is your blood-brother by _your_ Maker Alexsei who released you both centuries ago.  Would you care to change your statement before the tribunal?”

“No.”  Nan grit her teeth, determined to go down as harsh and unyielding – and unhelpful in gathering information regarding the depths of what she’d done – as possible.

“As you wish.”  Erik smirked down at her as he stopped moving to _loom_.  “You should recognize the name István because he gave testimony that as a vampire several centuries your senior and bored, he assisted in your plans.  Helping you kill and replace the King of Louisiana for Sophie-Ann, the Queen of Nevada for Felipe de Castro, and the Queen of Oklahoma for Freya so that in return you would make a member of his bloodline a King, the member eventually settled upon twenty years ago being one William Jesse Compton to replace the less-than-malleable Sophie-Anne.”

The Queen in question was fuming, far too irate to interrupt, which was in her favor given that she was in seriously deep shit right along with Compton and Flanagan.

“In fact, we have three more of your conspirators right here.”  Erik moved over to Sophie-Anne and her Saxons.  “Why don’t we ask them whether you assisted in placing her upon the throne of Louisiana?  What was the price, your Majesty?”  He sneered once more.  “For her _assistance_ in gaining the crown you’ve squandered?”

Sophie-Anne calmed herself enough to realize that cooperation was in her best interest.

“Supporting her candidate to an empty seat of the Authority as Chancellor.”

“And the candidate?”

“Her progeny Nora Gainsborough.”

Jorge, the moment he’d seen the charges and the evidence, had informed Roman, who had taken direct action against the mole in his organization, a mole that had helped substantiate the charges regarding de Castro and Freya, though she’d been clueless over Sophie-Anne’s involvement, likely to get her passed the battery of tests the Authority had in place to _prevent_ this sort of maneuvering.

“Who has been arrested herself and awaits the True Death once she had been _thoroughly_ interrogated.”  Roman announced when Sophie-Anne’s declaration nearly caused a riot among the witnesses.  “Carry on with the case, Sheriff Northman.”

“High Chancellor.”  Erik repeated his stiff little bow to his Maker’s blood-brother.  “Saxons?”  He barked.  “Your testimony, _now_.”

“We helped.”  One of the twins grumbled.  “Pretty little redhead promised us all kinds of things for helping overthrow our last king.”

“Held him for the Romanian.”  The other continued.  “And sent away the other guards.”

“There we are, thank you.”  Erik replied.  “That makes five testimonies regarding your _activities_ , Nan, in Louisiana alone.  I have no doubt once the investigation in Oklahoma and Nevada are complete there will be more…but unless I seriously mistake matters you won’t be alive to see it.”

“Quite right.”  Jorge nodded.  “Normally we would wish to interrogate you ourselves, but time is fleeting thanks to your shenanigans and we have your progeny, your blood-brother, and are actively meeting with your Maker to determine his culpability in these matters as well as the missing Ms. Krasiki.  Guilty.”  He announced the outcome.  “Death by staking.  Louisa?”  He summoned his enforcer.  “Don’t dawdle.  Sheriff Northman, thank you for your thoroughness in these matters, it is _most_ appreciated.”

Harry would never stop being amazed at the level of underhanded bullshit vampires got up to.  He turned in an idiot and uncovered – all unknowingly – a plot to subvert vampire politics in the New World.  It must be ennui.  Otherwise, why fucking bother with all the bullshit?  The stiff-necked blonde, who didn’t change her expression even as the summoned-Louisa unholstered a finely carved stake from her side before driving it home – as her boss had commanded, no dawdling in the slightest – should’ve taken up knitting instead of conspiring against some of the oldest vampires in the New World.

It would have been a safer hobby in the long run.

Perhaps even more fulfilling, given that from the look of her, Nan had had a silver pole lodged up her ass, though none was found in the puddle of bloody goo that she became once the sharpened tip of the stake met her heart – to more shock than just his own he thought given the looks on some vampiric faces.

“Queens and pawns, emperors or fools.”  Jorge commented with a sigh, already bored even with the severity of the trial.  “Next.  Queen Sophie-Anne LeClerq of Louisiana.  You face charges levied by the Authority: Collusion to Obtain information sensitive to the Vampire community; Attempting to Subvert the Authority of a Sheriff; Attempting to Subvert the Authority of a Monarch; Collusion to unseat a dually-selected Monarch; and High Treason against the Authority.”  He finished filling out the forms for Nan’s sentencing and execution then turned his gaze onto the redheaded queen.  “We have already heard your testimony for some of these charges with corroboration.  Enough to see you meet the True Death as well.  However,” he sat back.  “We still need to decide the fate of your progeny.  We have no charges against him, merely have him under suspicion.  What say you, Sophie-Anne?  Did you dirty your beloved André’s hands with your grasping for power?”

“No, Magister.”  Sophie-Anne shook her head, a bloody tear tracking steadily down one perfectly powdered cheek.  “When Nan came to me I sent him away for a time to my Maker for training and did not recall him until Louisiana had been secured.”

“Hmm.”  Jorge hummed lightly.  “It seems there _is_ some sense in that head after all.  You will be executed for your crimes against the Authority, Ms. LeClerq.  However, the manner in which it is carried out shall be determined by you.”

“Magister?”

“You will give a Maker’s command to your progeny André.”  He announced.  “You will order him to cooperate fully and completely with the investigation into your affairs by the Authority.  You will order him to turn over all evidence he may have regarding these matters.  You will order him to be a true and loyal servant to the Authority by serving as Interim King of Louisiana until a true Monarch has been selected.  You will order him to carry out the office of Interim King of Louisiana to the best of his ability and in the true best-interest of the common good of the vampires of the state of Louisiana as a whole.  Finally, you will order him to stay in the state of Louisiana for the next two hundred years unless released from his probation by the next monarch of the Kingdom of Louisiana and during that time serve the Kingdom of Louisiana as the personal assistant of the King or Queen.  Then you will release him.”  Jorge finished reading off the list Roman had complied and sent to his Blackberry as they’d waited for Sophie-Anne to arrive, just in case it turned out that André, at least, wasn’t directly involved in his maker’s lunacy.  “Do this and you shall have the dignity of a simple staking.  Fail and you will face Harry’s flames.”

“Really?”  Harry commented as Sophie-Anne gave a single hiccoughing sob then began to recite the list of commands demanded of her, her progeny stoic beside his hanging head and a few red tear-tracks.  “I’m your boogeyman now, de San Diego?”

“Hey.”  Jorge smirked.  “Whatever works, old friend.”

Harry rolled his eyes, shifting a bit in his seat in discomfort at the grief stamped all over the Queen’s childe as he was released and Louisa moved forward once more at Jorge’s nod.

He knew the release was for André’s benefit, to keep his maker’s death from wounding him as deeply as would occur had they still been fully entwined.  But having watched helplessly as more of his descendants died than he cared to think about, he couldn’t help but empathethize with the vampire.  Still.  His Maker played a game of thrones.  And she lost.  That she’d done a damn good job of bankrupting the State from the whispers in the crowd that had carried to his ears, hardly worked in her favor and rather explained why Jorge had been so complete in the commands he had her give her progeny.

If anyone stood a chance of knowing all she’d done – and how to fix it – it would hopefully be her childe.

“Louisa, dear,” Jorge commanded.  “Remove André’s bonds.  He will remain and return with the High Chancellor to New Orleans to being the process of un- _fucking_ Louisiana once the trial is finished.  Next:” he carried on.  “The Saxons.  Collusion to commit Treason.  High Treason against your King.  Attacking your King to install a new Monarch.”  He rattled off the top of his head, given that like André they’d originally just been under suspicion before their own testimony corroborated the charges against them.  “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

The blond twins just stared dumbly at the Magister, Harry rolling his eyes and hissing: _“Mindless Saxon beasts”_ in a language only Erik spoke from the arched brow that winged up.

That was an impressive amount of vitriol for people he’d never met before, Erik thought.  It seemed if Harry was who Roman thought he was that he still carried a few grudges from his mortal life.

“Boring.”  Jorge stood, announcing the sentence.  “Death.”  Then he arched a brow at Harry in implicit question, the mage rising with a bloodthirsty smirk.

“You know.”  He said idly as he descended the dais stairs.  “Since I don’t think my status is going to be hidden much longer from these New World vampires…”  He transitioned into the language of his birth, one thought long dead.  Recognizable but not understandable by a single soul in the warehouse, even as his glamour dropped revealing his tribal markings, Harry shrugging out of his suit jacket, waistcoat, and shirt to reveal them – and him – in all his Cornovii glory.  _“I see no reason not to show you who will take your life.  You see.”_ He laughed, the sound like dark chocolate rolling over his audience as his eyes light with internal fire, entrancing all who looked upon him.

Erik, meantime, knew tribal tattoos when he saw them, both as a Viking and as the progeny of a Gaul.

And those were _old_.

Older, perhaps, than him.

They certainly added a bit of veracity to Roman’s claiming of him being the son of the line of Aurelianus, a line that from what little he knew about it, had gone defunct in the male line five hundred years before Erik was _born_ let alone made a vampire.

 _“Saxon cunts like you took the lives of most of my tribe.  Helped wipe my people from the face of the Earth and supplied my enemy with the death curse that brought me here before you.”_ His grin was vicious and bloodthirsty, more a baring of teeth than anything else.  _“I’m going to enjoy this more than I should but…”_ He laughed again, that same dark chocolate sound.  _“I never pretended to be a good man and I don’t think I’ll be starting now_.”

Conjuring a pair of fireballs, he split them into many smaller pieces all rotating around and above his hands, then with the same throwing motion had them slamming at various intervals and points into the bound bodies of the Saxon twins.

Their screams were music to his ears.

When it ended, Harry scattered the ashes with a wave of his hand and banished the blood-stains of Nan and Sophie-Anne while he was at it.  No need to have anyone attempting slip-shod Necromancy with those.  No, indeed.

“Well,” Jorge nodded to Roman and the witnesses.  “I believe that concludes our business for the day.  Witnesses, thank you for your presence and participation, André, with us.”  And with that turned and walked away, Roman at his side, the two already working on cleaning up the mess Nan and Sophie-Anne and left for them to deal with, André and Louisa trailing them like ducklings along with the rest of the Authority guards.

Harry summoned his clothes, tossing them over his shoulder with a finger and sketching a bow to the High Chancellor, making it to his Veyron before Erik or one of his people could corner him only through a combination of his scaring the ever-loving-fuck out of a good half of the vampire witnesses and the other half converging on the Sheriff to gush and discuss the case.

Good on them.

Might have bought him a day – if he was lucky – before a curious-cat of a Viking came knocking on his door.

Starting up his car with a roar of its engine, he peeled away from the warehouse, glad to leave vampire politics behind him.

For the moment at least.

Something told him it wasn’t going to be that _easy_ now that they had some idea of who he was – or might be.

His own fault.

But then…he’d never yet managed to be cool-headed when it came to Saxon cunts and didn’t see why that would change now if it hadn’t in the last fifteen hundred years.

Whatever came of it this time he’d manage.

The same as he always had.

...

**Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii:**

****


	10. Seeing Red

** Blood Sex Magic **

_This chapter’s title comes from an awesome song by one of my favorite bands “State of My Head” by Shinedown.  Here is the lyric:_

_Oh, my eyes are seein’ red_  
Double vision from the blood we’ve shed  
The only way I’m leavin’ is dead  
That’s the state of my, state of my, state of my head

 _They don’t know, where we’ve been_  
We got that concrete street skin  
The only way I’m leavin’ is dead  
That’s the state of my, state of my, state of my head

_I found it rather appropriate given that we’re starting to get into the more interesting themes of TB and SVM, with lots more fun to come._

 

__

 

**Chapter Nine: Seeing Red**

By the time Erik cleared the warehouse, the impressive engine he’d heard and the sorcerer who owned it were both long gone, only one thought rumbling through his mind.

_MINE!_

Everything in him _pulled_ towards the north, where he knew the sorcerer was headed, a shard of ice digging into the very core of him.

“Master?”  Pam asked, voice showing no sign of the distress she felt through their bond.

And it _was_ distress.

She hadn’t felt him this way since Godric had fully closed the bond between Maker and Childe a decade ago after a century of steadily lessening it ever since Erik became her Maker.

 _“Not here, childe.”_ He spoke in the rapid way only a vampire could hear, in the old dialect of his people that was as dead and gone as his tribe.

Before he could take flight and catch up with Harry, perhaps meeting him at his cabin in the woods Thalia had located for him, his cell phone buzzed.  Keith and James were taking the cargo van back to the warehouse owned by one of Erik’s shell corporations, and he tossed his progeny the keys to his Corvette, trusting her to see it safely back to Shreveport.  With a wordless glance that said Pam wasn’t going to drop it, she climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it so her feet could actually reach the pedals instead of pushed all the way back in a custom lengthening of the driver’s side that had to be done for most of Erik’s cars before firing up the engine and had the tires squealing on the way out of the parking lot.  If nothing else she would enjoy putting the performance vehicle through its paces on the way back to Shreveport.

Taking flight, Erik landed on top of the warehouse they’d used for the tribunal, only when he was certain of his privacy did he pulled his phone from his pocket and flip it open to read the message, ruthlessly controlling his emotions and the demands of his blood pulling him towards Bon Temps only through age and training under a vampire that had been known for most of his unlife as Death.

  * _From AP: Patience._



That was it, the entirety of the message but he supposed that it was enough given the source.

Not one member of their House ever disregarded Pythia’s advice, even as a human when she’d been the Oracle of Delphi, her abilities the main reason she was changed by her Maker despite her blindness and elderly years upon turning together with the ancient King Seth, ruler of Persia since before that was its name, feeling the Pull towards her.

The Pull didn’t always occur between Maker and Progeny.

It hadn’t been in place between Erik and Pam for instance however it was the only case he knew of in their family where one of their line had chosen a Progeny without feeling the Pull towards them, even the monster Appius who had abused his progeny in horrific ways both before and after turning them had selected them for the Pull as well as their looks or abilities.

The former in the case of Erik’s Maker and the latter in the case of Roman, who had been a Roman general under Julius Caesar.

Part of Erik wondered if Appius might have selected Roman for that very reason, given that no one would ever expect a former teenaged Gaul chieftain who had been enslaved by the Romans to join in conspiracy with a former middle-aged Roman general to kill their sadistic Maker.

Appius had clearly either overestimated their ability to hold grudges or underestimated how much they hated _him_ as they’d done just that before going their separate ways, Godric willingly taking the blame and notoriety of committing the “sin” of killing his own Maker while Roman inherited Appius’s holdings and remained an unblemished reputation in the Old World among the vampires not of their family.

Seth’s line had known what Appius was, only holding back a killing blow on Pythia’s advice and visions.

Erik appreciated her ruthlessness as it ever led towards the best future for the House of Seth, but he could do without some of the choices she’d made in the process and the collateral damage that always seemed to arise from those choices.

And now she cautioned him to be patient.

Given that she’d sent the warning as everything he was called out for a sorcerer that had disappeared from his senses, he had a damn good idea what was going on – now at least – and what he needed to be patient about as it had begun when he first heard Harry Black’s true name on another’s lips and exploded into full-out _need_ when he dropped the spells hiding both his true form, and _what a form_ , scent, and power.

He’d been drawn to Harry before that, intrigued by the puzzle he presented and enthralled with his beauty and scent.

And that was before he’d seen and scented Harry without magical filters or glamours of some sort.

Erik had never been so hard in his _life_ as he’d become with a single scenting of a thunderstorm on northern seas, laced with a temping musk he couldn’t describe even if the life of himself or his progeny relied on his ability to do so.

It just _was_.

He ran through the alphabet in his native tongue, then Old Swedish, then Old Norse, cycling through every tongue he spoke then started again this time backwards before switching to numbering systems, eventually managing to calm his roaring instincts down to a banked flame instead of a tumultuous inferno.

Out of habit, Erik tested the bond between himself and his Maker, though he already knew he would find it sealed after receiving no support or calming influence through it in the midst of his tumult or even as little as a text from the ancient being.

He didn’t know what was going on with Godric anymore and _that_ hurt nearly as much as being separated from his possible Mate immediately after recognizing what he might be to him.

If Godric _knew_ he would have never left Erik alone to manage his out-of-control inner beast.

But he didn’t know.

At this point the only conclusion that Erik could come to was that Godric didn’t _care_ to know…and after centuries of caring and trust between them, Erik no more knew how to handle _that_ than he did this possible-maybe Mating issue.

Erik was hardly the first vampire to have a possible mate, it happened more often than humans would think as vampires being what they were, were innately more in tune with their most primal selves.

They could _recognize_ when a piece of themselves they never knew they were missing clicked home.

About half of his House had mated, either turning their own mate or finding their mate in the Progeny of another vampire of their line.

And with a head full of the scent that was equal temptation and warning, just like everything _else_ about Harry Black with his blocks down, Erik was mostly certain this was what was happening to him.

Mating didn’t happen in a moment to vampires like it did the were species, sometimes including shifters.

In Erik’s case it seemed the third time was the charm to recognizing what Harry could be to him.

Vampires were complex due to their natures.  Their needs were different as they could expect to live until they met their final death.  A vampire mate had to be capable of staying with their mate for thousands of years, not just a single mortal lifespan.  When one died so too did the other.  A weakness that other species would think anathema to a vampire.

Other species would be wrong.

A mate was a precious thing, even the most benign and simple of attacks on a mate could be met with force up to and including the True Death under their laws.

They were the most sacred part of themselves.

More sacred even than their blood.

And Erik might have found _his_ in a creature of undetermined status, who may or may not be older than him, who appeared to spend every spare second sunbathing.

He had to admit.

If it wasn’t happening to him, Erik would find the irony funny as hell.

But it was.

And Erik had never found himself more adrift in all his years except for when his family was slaughtered by a vampire during his human life.

…

Needing his solitude, Erik went to his favorite home in his Area: a simple lodge in the bayou built of solid stone without a single crack to let in light and half-buried in the ground.

It had no roads leading to it.

No modern conveniences of any kind, just a small comfortable room that reminded him of simpler times.

Erik had adapted better to the modern world than many of the older vampires, this was true and something he prided himself on, but at heart he, like any other vampire, still clung to their time of origin to keep their sense of self in the ever-changing ebbs of time steady and resolute.

His progeny will always be a curious mix of Victorian debutante and madam.

His Maker a chieftain of Ancient Gaul.

And Erik will forever more be the Viking prince and later king that he had been in life.

At the end of the night, all he needed was a light-tight space to keep safe from the killing star, a willing donor to feed upon, and a good fuck or fight.

It made him a simple vampire to understand if you could figure that out, much easier than vampires who came from much more rigid cultures like the Magister or Pamela.

He had stripped and changed into a simple pair of thin cotton pajama bottoms and was resting half in downtime and half aware as he considered the possible reasons Pythia, the Ancient Pythoness could have for advising him patience in tracking down his delicious mate, a mate that from what he was sensing from the mating pull, wasn’t all that far away, perhaps somewhere on this same stretch of bayou.

There was only one thing he could fathom: that whatever outcome awaited them, it was best served by Erik’s cunning and not his ferocity…at least at first.

He needed to be the King not the Berserker to catch his wily mate, a state that he found himself not disliking the more he thought on it.

Erik had never liked an easy conquest.

While he was certain that Harry Black – or whatever the fuck his real name was, though he couldn’t blame him for changing it as the times changed, Gwrtheryn was a mouthful even when Erik was young – could put up one hell of a fight, there weren’t many beings who could easily stand their ground in the face of one thousand years of vampire Berserker.

In fact, other than his Maker, he couldn’t think of a single soul who ever had and survived intact.

And the last thing he wanted was to damage his mate.

No, as _infuriating_ having his mating bond dictated by another, and believe him it _was_ , patience, perhaps, might suit best as _she_ had cautioned.

Erik had no sooner come to said realization than his phone buzzed once more in the pattern specific to the Ancient Pythoness so that her calls, texts, and emails were seen at once.

Others could wait.

She could not anymore than his Maker could if Godric had need of him.

Vamping into the house through the only entrance, which would be locked down manually and then a second hatch lowered over it for backup protection, Erik snapped up his phone and noted the alert for an email.

It seemed Pythia might deign to explain herself, at least partially for once.

Getting an explanation from a Seer was like trying to negotiate with a Fae: frustrating and ultimately futile as they buried you in jargon – or failing that paperwork – until you agreed with whatever terms they set for whatever you were after.

Erik had only sat in on _one_ Fae negotiation in his unlife, creating the current Fae-Vampire treaty at the end of the Second Fae War, but that was _more than fucking enough_ for one millennium.

Never again.

That was a headache he now paid Cataliades to handle and with his thanks.

…

**_From: AP @ HighCouncil.org_ **

**_To: Erikir @ ENV.com_ **

**_Subject: Patience_ **

**_Body:_ **

_Erikír:  Whatever you have decided, it is the best route forward as my view of things has changed in a moment.  Before, the path was dark and treacherous, even for one such as you, young one, and led to much heartache and sorrow.  Remember as you should know as a former ruler yourself: no good has ever come from making_ demands _of Kings._

_The one I see with you is every inch the King and always has been._

_I have known him personally only these last few months, but he has long featured in the lives of a few others I’ve kept my_ eye _upon.  He is as dangerous and treacherous as the seas, and just as mercurial.  Patience is the only path forward that will give you what you seek._

_He is a wounded wolf, he will attack and defend with equal ferocity, but once gained his loyalty and regard are absolute and unshakable even as his heart is both wounded and shielded against further harm._

_Patience is required to breech his defenses, young one, and only then you will have a consort worthy of our House._

_~ Pythia_

…

Erik closed out the email, finding that the little pieces of information his great-great-grandmaker as Pam had dubbed the Ancient Pythoness, had provided to fit well with what he already knew as well as providing a bit of context.

He found it all too easy to picture Harry as an ancient king, as Roman had called him and he had seen the marks of his tribe upon his skin’s rich bronzed canvass, one of them likely equal to a crown as Godric wore a chieftain’s collar around his neck.  Erik frowned.  He knew little of the Cornovii, other than they were an ancient tribe of Britannia, who had died out or fled or intermarried with other tribes long before his people begun to raid the rich green shores of Northumbria and Wessex and the other kingdoms of Albion and Iwernia.  He would need to learn of them.  Though how much fact could be found among the fictions of modern authored historias he wasn’t certain.

Probably about as much as survived of Godric’s native tribes, if not less given the distance from Rome and parts of Britannia remaining unconquered no matter how hard the Romans tried to rectify the situation before giving up to turn to other matters threatening their empire.

Harry having featured in visions granted to Pythia meant he’d either consorted with vampires before _or_ Pythia had seen him in visions of the future but been unable to place him before Harry – and he was certain it was Harry now, not another _lesser_ magic-user – took up the seat as the Council Mage.

A grin tugged at his mouth.

None could ever say that Erik didn’t know how to aim for the stars.

Most would never believe it, especially amongst the vampires who knew him, but in Harry he felt almost outclassed in every way other than height.

An ancient King of a tribe during a time that was known for being bloody as the Romans pulled out and the Saxons swooped down on Britannia, he was older than Erik, just as if not more beautiful, and _gods_ was he powerful.

Erik might very well be the first ever vampire to watch back-to-back executions of vampires by a sorcerer with a hard-on…though they were a vicious species so maybe not.

From the top of his sun-kissed brown locks to his bronzed toes, Harry Black was a _challenge_ and that was before Erik confirmed that he was the Council Mage himself instead of one of dozens of Council envoys.

That alone was a position of power that Erik could not match as a mere vampire Sheriff – Erik preferring the position as it gave him enough authority to not have to bow to the whims of another save a single monarch and the Authority itself but without the tediousness that came with a throne.

A seeming lack of ambition that put him a bit backfooted with the luscious mage.

What did Erik have to offer him?

There was no power he could give him Harry didn’t already have, no status or wealth that he didn’t possess in his own right.

He had no need of Erik’s protection as a mage nor of his Making to gain immortality.

Nothing, was the answer.

There was not one damn thing Erik could offer Harry Black, Mage of the High Council, that he did not have or could gain for the asking.

Nothing that is…except for himself.

Feeling the sun begin to rise, Erik ran his tongue over the fangs that had _refused_ to fully retract ever since he’d gotten Harry’s scent as he descended the dais to take out Sophie-Anne’s Saxons, the look on his face nothing short of an anticipatory leer.

After all.

It was hardly the first time _this_ Viking had undergone a successful raid or siege on English territory.

And this time the reward was far greater than the gold contained in a monastery or fort claimed for his people.

It was his Mate.

For his mate, a rare creature that was unique in all the world, there was no tactic his king’s mind wouldn’t bring to bear to gain him in his arms, home, and eternity.

…

“Godsdamnit.”  Harry cursed, rolling his eyes as he spied the pair waiting on his cabin porch as he pulled his Veyron into the protected space he’d enchanted for it.  His curse wasn’t one of surprise.  No, now that the _secret_ was out – so to speak – he would’ve been surprised if they weren’t waiting for him.

He just didn’t want to have to payout to that asshole Niall the purse for their bet not for it being excessive…he just didn’t want to admit that the Fae Prince was right about Harry’s ability to hide himself despite actively meddling in the supernatural world outside of Albion.

Interestingly enough, despite Harry having been gone from his homeland’s shores for over a decade, it was still considered a “no-fly-zone” for the most part for vampires, with a single Sheriff stationed in London and answerable to the King of Gaul Vercingetorix being the Old World’s answer to the power vacuum his leave-taking could have caused with no Harry to run off outlaw vampires who encroached on his territory, the same as they’d done years before when the first – and last – King of Iwernia tried to annex Albion and Harry had lit him up, with both Iwernia and the Isle of Mann falling under the jurisdiction of the Queen of Iceland with a pair of Sheriffs stationed on the islands to keep their people from spilling over into Albion and having to deal with the “unknown issue” that tended to kill vampires preying on Harry’s homeland more often than not.

Some had been granted leave to come and go, as they weren’t pillaging _beasts_ , but others…oh yes, others had soon found that it would have been better for _them_ to be found in contempt of the decree limiting travel in Albion to travel _through_ Albion to reach neighboring monarchies than face Harry’s justice when he tracked them down.

And if they stayed longer than a week, he _always_ did, especially once technology made traveling easier to manage before he’d regained his teleportation ability to _pop_ from place to place by breaking his binding to Albion.

Staying on the “down-low” as Lala would put it had been much easier on an island all-but- _swimming_ in magic and ley lines from the southernmost point of the island in Cornwall to the farthest northern reaches of Dunnet Head, with hundreds of stone dances and fairy circles, magical creatures great and small, _blending_ had been much easier especially in the old days where magic was much more rampant and the wilds were still covering most of the isle.

In Louisiana all there was were a handful of druids, some random wiccans, a sprinkling of mediums, and thus far exactly _one_ brujo.

It was hard to hide in plain sight when _blending_ required you to smother your scent, hide all of your identifying markers, and keep your magic wrapped so tightly inside yourself being surprised at the wrong time could cause a random explosion just for an outlet.

Especially given that calling attention to _himself_ for years had risked calling attention to his descendants before they were ready and able to defend themselves against all that might wish to harm them in the supernatural world.

Having both the kids married off to supes that could help both hide and protect them was a relief he hadn’t known he’d needed until Sookie had returned from her honeymoon smelling strongly of eau d’wolf instead of Sunshine-in-a-Pretty-Blonde-Bottle Vampire Crack.  Gods.  She’d given him more than one close-call on a heart attack as she matured before Alcide recognized her as his mate.

His spells, wardings, and enchantments were good, perhaps the best of any being alive, but _nothing_ was infallible.

Sookie and Jason ending up vampire blood-whores to a fucker like Felipe de Castro or Sophie-Anne LeClerq or _shudder_ William-fucking-Compton was enough to keep him from sleeping well more nights than not until their scents settled with maturity and in the case of Sookie her mateship.

Perhaps, he was willing to admit, with his little ducklings no longer needing to follow in his footsteps he’d grown a _bit_ bored, leading him to baiting and turning over Compton instead of just killing him and being done with it.

Perhaps.

Even still, given that he had the vampire High Chancellor and a much-younger aura’d vampire standing on his porch, if it was _excitement_ he’d been looking for in the backwoods of Louisiana, he’d say he’d gotten a _bit_ more than he’d bargained for.

Stepping out of the protected space around his car, Harry eyed the vampiric pair as Roman and his associate gave crisp bows, the younger’s lower than the ancient’s.

“Mage.”  Roman greeted him, recognizing him as the Councilmember thanks to a timely alert from Pythia, who had insisted both on his bringing Colin and the duty he was to charge both the young-but-intelligent vampire and the rebellious Council Mage with.  Roman had done his research regardless, quickly seeing _why_ Pythia had chosen to pilot this particular course.  That said, he wished literally _any other_ vampire had the job of convincing the Mage after the little _show_ he’d put on back at the warehouse at Jorge’s behest.

The former Priest always had had a flair for showmanship.

And nothing sent a message _quite_ like having a powerful sorcerer torture and flambé several vampires.

“Why do I have a feeling I’m _really_ not going to like why you’re here?”  Harry asked with a sigh, rolling his bare shoulders, having not bothered to redress after leaving the warehouse.  Jerking his head back towards the mansion and turning to walk away from his cabin, he was unsurprised when both vampires sped to meet him step-for-step, the younger staying on the far side of the Chancellor as Roman took up position at Harry’s side.

“Because no member of the High Council that lasts longer than a month is a fool.”  Roman smiled, amused that Harry seemed about as pleased at whatever he assumed Roman was here for as Roman was to be here.  “And in no words that ever reached me in the days of the Roman removal from Britannia had the Line of Aurelianus as fools, let alone the last two kings of the Cornovii who managed to unite most of the island against the Saxons.”

“Wow.”  Harry said a moment later after that had processed.  “You’ve aged rather well… _General?  Senator, perhaps_?”  He asked in Classical Latin.

“ _General.”_   Roman nodded.  _“If I have assurances as to your discretion?”_   Roman asked, knowing he was going to have to yield at least some overture of trust before he could expect the Mage to do the same. 

Then he continued after Harry eyed him then nodded, curiosity beating out ability to gossip.  Besides which…who would care that he would discuss the matter of the Chancellor’s origin’s anyway?

_“General Marcus Antonius, Consul of Rome and King-Consort of Egypt.”_

Eyebrows shot high in surprise, a laugh slipping out as Harry processed _that_ level of hiding important shit behind an alias.

“Well, I suppose I can’t talk.”  Harry said, wiping away a tear of mirth at the vampire known only as “The Roman” being one of the greatest Roman generals of all time who “committed suicide.”  Speaking of which…  “Given who I am, over not wanting certain levels of notoriety to follow you around.  Your wife…?”

“Actually deceased.”  Roman frowned, closing his eyes.  He hadn’t thought of either of his human wives in years, since long before he met his Mate.  Regret could only follow a man so long, even with all of eternity stretching out before him.  And Thalia had healed wounds that being desired only for his abilities at the sword and command had struck deep within the man Roman once was.

Gaining the mansion, Harry drew a rune in the air not unlike the one he’d used to create a silencing bubble around himself and Jorge, then another on his front door deactivating the more _active_ of his protections on his showpiece that he’d set in place after Compton’s ill-fated visit.

“Roman and guest,” Harry nodded to the still un-introduced vampire.  Though, silent or not, Harry could _definitely_ appreciate the scenery the young one provided…and he seemed familiar for some reason.  Perhaps a vampire he’d seen passing through Albion in the past century, given his youth.  “Please, be welcome in this house.”  He made certain to be specific, knowing that the “home” protection could have holes if you didn’t word an invitation correctly.

“Thank you, Councilor.”  The young vampire spoke, sparking a memory as Harry blinked and was visibly taken aback.  “I appreciate the welcome from one who once did me a great service.”

“Colin?”  Harry asked, incredulously as he scanned the young vampire.  He looked almost nothing like the last time he’d seen this particular vampire.  His smile was bright as he grinned at the handsome creature.  “You look most improved.  I am glad my spell was a good thing in the end as much as you fought against it at the time.”

“Yeah,” Colin, a handsome young vampire who’d been turned and abandoned in his late teens a century or so ago, ruffled a hand through the back of his rich brown hair shorn in an undercut rather than the tangled dirty-blond mess it had been when he’d seen this sorcerer last.  But after being abandoned…he hadn’t been in the best of shape.  Unkempt and starving, he was honestly surprised Harry even recognized his voice.  “My second maker was nothing like the first.  He took care of me, so thank you for breaking the bond and helping him establish his own.  I know I wasn’t really _pleasant_ to deal with at the time.”

“And none could have blamed you.”  Harry said promptly as he ushered the pair in, still rejoicing over a bit of well-done – and difficult – magic that had ended up turning out well in the end.  He hadn’t been certain and neither vampire had ever returned to disclose whether they’d worked their issues out, though as they’d both thought him mortal, he wasn’t surprised, and the new Maker had paid Harry well for his services.  “Having new powers and weaknesses thrust upon you without a by-your-leave and then being abandoned was hardly a cocktail for a good turning.”  He waved them towards the front parlor.  “Bloodwine or a Royalty Blended for either of you gentlemen?”  He asked, every inch the proper host as befitted a Council Mage, turning towards business now that they were concealed within the wards of the showpiece.

Not even one of the oldest vampires in existence would be able to hear their conversation now that they were inside the mansion, let alone anyone else who tried to eavesdrop on what the vampire High Chancellor wanted with the Council Mage…or Mage’s envoy depending on how good and/or recent their information was.

“Bloodwine.”  Roman arched a brow, impressed as Harry snapped his fingers and a goblet and filled carafe appeared before him on the elegant glass coffee table.  AB- blood blended expertly with a rich Malbec if he wasn’t mistaken.  An excellent vintage.  “Thank you, Mage Black?”  He asked regarding name and title, Harry nodding genially in agreement before turning to Colin.

“I’ll take a Royalty if it isn’t any trouble, Mage Black.”  The young vampire answered, unsurprised after the display with his superior’s bloodwine that a bottle of O+ and another goblet appeared on the table to his side.  Stone, this time.

Colin realized, looking around, that there wasn’t a piece of silver, iron, or wood to be found in any of the furnishings around them, beginning to understand why Mage Black had escorted them here rather than take a meeting in his home: while still very much his territory, the mansion seemed geared towards being as neutral as possible in furnishings and feel, even the scent was pleasant but unoffensive to his vampiric nose.

“Alright, Roman.”  Harry sighed after he’d summoned a mead, taking a long drink and sprawling out in the arm chair he favored when he had to have meetings – usually with reps from the Council or other magic users – in his “seat” as the leader of the worldwide Magical Community.

Thank fuck that other from the random rogues cropping up every now and again they were all too scattered and busy blending with the non-practicing that he really didn’t have to worry about _dealing_ with them that much.

Or, you know, _ruling_.

He didn’t mind smacking down a rogue but if he had to worry about shit like laws and taxes he’d take to hunting rogues of other kinds – vampires, weres, etc. – just for an outlet.

And having their ancient leader reverting to form would do nothing good for the magical community as a whole.

Though he was sure it would be good for his blood pressure if nothing else.

“What can I do for the Authority?”

“The Ancient Pythoness has put in a request in the wake of Nan’s _unfortunate_ murder by anti-vampire terrorists.”  Roman told him with a smirk, Harry giving a little huff over the cover-up spin they’re putting on it to cover their asses in the public spotlight.  “Colin, has per her request been assigned as both guard and assistant to help alleviate any issues that might arise from your agreement to her request.”

“And?”

“She – and we at the Authority agree – that the American Vampire League has been less-than-effective at anything following the calm-down period after the Revelation rioting.”  Roman laid the situation out for him.  “We’re changing course under new leadership and the special interest group Sentient Beings Alliance.”

“Catchy and all-encompassing.”  Harry arched a brow.  “And has _what_ exactly to do with me?”

“We’d like you to be our _human_ ,” Colin gave a little _snerk_ at the dry tone of Roman at the word considering that Harry was barely that and from what they could tell not mortal at all.  “Face of the SBA.”

“You want me to take Nan’s old job?”  Harry was incredulous and – despite himself – entertained at the very idea.  “You have my attention...


	11. You Are What You Eat

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

Author’s Note:  According to Google translate, Swedish words used in this chapter and likely throughout the story –

               _Gemål – Consort_

               _Älskling – darling, beloved_

_Last time:_

_“We’d like you to be our_ human _,” Colin gave a little snerk at the dry tone of his boss at the word considering that Harry was barely that and from what they could tell not mortal at all.  “Face of the new SBA.”_

_“You want me to take Nan’s old job?”  Harry was incredulous and – despite himself – entertained at the very idea.  “You have my attention…”_

**Chapter Ten: You Are What You Eat**

_Monday, July 14 th, 2008_

…

Harry had a million and a half things on his mind when he woke for the day, mind racing before his feet had even touched down on the soft sheepskin rug he kept at his bedside, glad that between his magic and age he only truly _needed_ a few hours of sleep every thirty hours or so, else today would _suck_.

He had Jesús arriving to sign his employment contracts and non-disclosure/binding privacy agreements, as well as start his first day of work, though thankfully Harry’s main Envoy (actual envoy rather than Harry’s bit of subterfuge) Octavia, who had mentored Jason’s wife Amelia, handled most of the Council business including giving the other envoys assignments from the “official” offices he kept in New Orleans.

The former Compton plantation he was certain would soon become known as his formal residence for meetings or whatever, especially with him getting into bed – metaphorically – with the vampires, though he saw the hand of the Council in this Sentient Beings Alliance group that Roman wanted to transition the AVL into…he’d have to come up for a better name for it than the Old Compton Place or the Compton Plantation.  He’d think on it.

Vampires weren’t the only species that wanted to come “out” after all, they were just the most controversial.

If a truce of any kind could really be made between humans and vampires in time the rest of the supernatural beings would follow – including magic-users – and it was in _all_ of their interests for legislation to be written in broader terms than had been done under Nan’s “guidance” at the head of the AVL.

Positing it through the lens of _sentience_ instead of human or vampire would prevent a second, third, fourth, or more rounds of debates and fighting for rights.

Harry _was not_ going to lose anything he’d earned and fought and gained over the centuries because one vampire bitch had been short-sighted.

That, more than anything, was the reason he’d given Roman a tentative agreement though the elder being would return tonight with Cataliades and Colin to flesh out an actual contract to have one Harry Black, human (ish), as the head of the SBA.

Including an extravagant salary and perks.

If he was going to get into bed with vampires he was going to reap the benefits of it, personal feelings about the validity of their course of action aside.

Too many of his best money-making interests at the moment were tied up in vampires, from bloodwine to synthetics, for-profit blood banks to security geared towards protecting vampires in their daily death, vampire-hardened technology that could handle their strength to keyboards able to keep up with their speed, thanks to Toth’s tip-off and his previous investments through Gringotts, Harry’s portfolio was filled to brimming with vampires-affiliated or straight-up vampire businesses.

He may not want them anywhere near his descendants due to their Fae heritage, but he had no moral scruples about them otherwise.

Harry had never taken to modern ethics and mores, no matter how hard Adele had tried to teach him over the years.

Much like his preference to run around barefoot in soft cotton rather than the stiff synthetic fabrics and heavy footwear of the current era.

He was who he was and didn’t pretend otherwise as far as his attitude and personality were concerned.

That he had tribal markings, constantly had an old golden torc around his neck, a scent that tempted anything capable of sensing it, and more power in his pinky than most other magic-users alive on the other hand were his own damn business.

Luxuriating in a shower after a glance at his antique pocket watch that he had bought new in 1790 from a Swiss watchmaker who had opened up shop in London, winding the delicate antique with its burnished gold hunter case and chain before cleaning up and dressing in simple cream cotton trousers with a matching pullover and slipping into canvas ‘boat-shoes’, then checked the time once more before setting the watch in its bedside holder and popping over to his office in the mansion, a modern Rolex Cellini Moonphase on his wrist.

He already knew he wasn’t going anywhere today with everything to get done and if Jesús was prompt would arrive within the next half-hour.

A snap of his fingers had coffee brewing down in the massive catering kitchen that was geared toward the sort of entertaining he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid forever no matter how much he’d like to try, while another popped some of the fruit he kept in one of the refrigerators under preservation charms for guests onto his side-table flanking his desk.

He’d have to see if Jesús objected to running mundane errands as his personal assistant.

He was tried of getting busy and running out of groceries at his cabin and he couldn’t very well have the housekeeper he had taking care of the mansion doing his shopping for his personal home when he didn’t want anyone muddying the place up with their auras besides his family.  Holly was a wonderful housekeeper and a good mum to the teen boys she’d introduced to him when he mentioned needing someone – or someones – to look after the mansion grounds and he’d subsequently hired Rocky and Wade, but she was a practicing wiccan and like it or not would leave an imprint behind on his home.  It was one thing at the mansion since he’d built the place to resist anything of that sort from any supe species, but he hadn’t want to do that to his own home.

Making visitors squirm was one thing.

Making himself uncomfortable was another.

He’d rather ward his personal home to the heavens and have to personally invite people into the wards than go through the steps he’d undertaken on the mansion.

Harry had read and responded to several emails by the time Jesús arrived, his new PA already following orders by texting him rather than knocking or ringing the doorbell, Harry sending a flicker of power down to unlock the door and a text reply to Jesús, noting that he’d arrived exactly five minutes before eight in the morning.

Punctual.

Already starting out on the right foot.

The twenty-something _brujo_ proved his adaptability to orders a few minutes later as he followed the instructions in Harry’s text by bringing up the coffee from the kitchen as well as two mugs, honey, and cream, a plain brown messenger bag slung over one shoulder and curiously a houseplant in his opposite arm, Harry taking in the burdensome load as Jesús entered the open office double French doors on the second floor.

He’d also taken what Harry had told him over the phone when he’d offered the position to the _brujo_ into account, dressing in simple chinos and a short-sleeved button down with loafers rather than the formal suit he’d worn to his interview.

“Looks like you’re getting a good start to the day.”  Harry smiled, gesturing with his head for the side table that separated Harry’s massive cherry wood desk from what would be Jesús’s smaller version, the two at a ninety-degree angle from each other, with the assistant’s desk facing the series of lovely evergreen magnolia trees in the backyard through one wide window while Harry’s faced the room, Harry taking a departure from the rest of the house in his office by using wooden furnishings.  Elsewhere was as every-supe-friendly as he could make it other than the safety measures built into the very walls, floors, ceilings, and doors.  His office was his and he happened to like wood furnishings.  The vampires could go fuck themselves if they had issues with all the available weaponry his desk and what have you represented.  “What’s with the plant?”

Harry quickly made up his coffee by hand with a spoon of honey and a dash of cream, likely odd to Jesús but Harry came from a time before sugar – sue him – rather than continue to use his magic for tasks.  It was one thing for Jesús to know he was the Council Mage with the power such a position implied and another for him to know in reality how powerful Harry was and how that had led over the years to him using magic for mundane tasks to both keep his magic active and to keep it from overflowing.  In times of war it was a different matter.  But given the peace he’d been living under for the better part of fifty years now, if he didn’t use his magic it got restless.

He couldn’t exactly _flambé_ vampires every night and expect to keep the peace between supes, as was his charge as a member of the High Council.

Little tasks it was otherwise, though even using it constantly wasn’t enough sometimes, leading Harry to have to get _creative_.

“Delivery van dropped it off while I was taking off my jacket downstairs.”  Jesús answered his new boss with a little shrug, helping himself to a black coffee and an apple from the selection on the side table at Harry’s gesture to help himself after he’d set down the plant on the coffee table at the little seating area in the front part of the office and his bag by what he assumed was going to be his desk.  He put his coffee and snack on the desk top then moved back to the plant, easily finding and removing the card to hand over to his boss.  He frowned at the heavy – and expensive – cardstock.  “Unmarked, some white guy in a suit.”

“Hmm.”  Harry hummed under his breath as he took the card.  “Lessons beginning early, even before the paperwork is finished it looks like.”  He announced after flipping the card between his fingers.  “Lesson one: this isn’t cardstock, which is your first clue besides the odd delivery person that our new office décor didn’t come from your standard florist.”

“What is it?”  Jesús asked, taking it back when Harry offered it still unopened.

“It’s vellum.”  Harry enlightened him.  “Expensive, and if you look at the watermark, belonging to Erik Northman the vampire Sheriff of Area Five.”

Jesús held the vellum envelope up to the light, turning it this way and that until he saw what Harry had spotted in an instant: a strange tree with stylized knotted roots.

“The watermark is Yggdrasil.”  Harry continued to explain as he tried to place the strange plant.  “A version I haven’t seen in centuries, very authentic.”

“How do you know it belongs to Sheriff Northman?”

“He’s the only vampire in the New World according to my current information that has ties back to the Viking period.”  Harry told him, eyes narrowing as he had to pull out his phone and do a quick Google search for the plant to click. 

It was a miniature pineapple. 

The meaning? 

“Welcome!”

Either Northman was finally getting around to welcoming him to the area or vampire gossip was as effective as ever.

Or he’d just picked something from a polite-greeting portion of an online catalog.

Still, it was odd.

And confusing…and oddly endearing, especially once he’d taken the card back from Jesús and opened it, finding a brief typewritten note inside.

_Welcome to the insanity of vampire politics._

_~ EN_

Cute.

As if he hadn’t seen him flash-fry three vampires after bringing Compton to him wrapped in silver netting and a transfigured dog cage.

“Right.”  Harry shook his head.  He didn’t have time for vampire weirdness, even involving one of the best-looking males he’d seen in his long life.  At least not until Roman arrived later that night.  Negotiating with the High Chancellor was more than enough vampire activity for one day, though he’d have to be polite and send Northman a thank you.  “Let’s get those privacy contracts and everything signed and set-up.  With some new developments in the last day I have a feeling I’m going to need them in place as soon as possible…”

…

Filling Jesús in on all the contacts he would need via the list Harry had already typed up and added to both his new assistant’s day planner and “company” cell phone, getting all of the final employment paperwork taken care of, and setting in place the magically-binding secrecy agreement took most of the morning when interspersed with Harry fielding a few calls he’d been expecting from Octavia and the Council given his unintentional “outing” to the vampire elite regarding his status and ordering an appropriate “thank you” gift to be delivered to Fangtasia for the Sheriff. 

He rather hoped Northman either knew his flower languages or had a sense of humor.

As for his main envoy…

Honestly.

The way Ms. Octavia Fant fussed you’d have thought he’d _intentionally_ gone to a meeting with one of the few vampires who knew him from before they became a damn vampire.

Or that it was one like Jorge who while not being _vicious_ about past issues was definitely using what knowledge he’d had of Harry’s character when he last knew him at the Tudor court – where Harry’d been spending most of his time during that century trying to belay and then alleviate the effects of the Inquisition coming to England – to his own ends.

In Jorge’s case putting the fear of _Harry_ – and thereby Jorge given that they’d established an appearance of _friendliness_ before the tribunal – in the gathered vampires.

Jorge did like to use whatever tools came to hand to accomplish his goals.

Harry rather resented being one but considering that short of popping away should things have taken a nasty turn, he’d had little choice in the matter.

Though once the Saxons appeared, it had been as much a matter of personal entertainment as it was Jorge’s expedience.

Jesús, as it turned out, was perfectly amenable to running stereotypical “assistant” errands for Harry, especially since they came with use of a “company” car and credit card.

Though, from Jesús’s perspective, before Harry had led him down to the garage to show him said car, he’d never in a million years would have expected it to be a brand-new black Cadillac Escalade complete with all the bells and whistles, including windows tinted so dark that he was sure Harry had to get a permit for them.

His first “errand” being to go get lunch on Harry’s card and pick up something for his new boss once he was finished, giving him a mental break from all the information being thrown at his head once the secrecy spell was in place.

A spell that his new boss completed without any kind of ritual, aids, or tools.

His mind was more than a little blown.

Getting lunch was hardly an onerous chore, even if the selection in Bon Temps was limited to the local grocery, a mini-mart/gas station, and Merlotte’s Bar and Grille.

Thankfully, neither Harry nor Jesús had issues with a steady fare of salads, burgers, sandwiches, and steaks, though with having Harry as both a regular and friend Sam had added a few dishes geared more towards what the Englishman preferred to eat like steamed clams, Shrimp done a couple different ways including po’ boy sandwiches and etouffeé, and fish-and-chips.

Harry wasn’t uppity about food but even so…at his age he had definite preferences.

Such as he’d prefer to forget what passed as cuisine in Dark Ages what-is-now-Scotland, though his native lands weren’t much better.

Pulling into the gravel and pavement parking lot surrounding Merlotte’s on three sides, Jesús noted the healthy mixture of older cars and trucks with some work trucks that were newer models, the place as busy as Harry had told him to expect on a Monday during the lunch rush, telling him to go on and take his time.

Being a salaried employee – making more money than a _brujo_ with only a two-year degree under his belt had ever dreamed of, and that was before the perks of company this and company that, plus the benefits – Harry wasn’t worried about getting enough work of out him, more that he was happy.

Happy employees, as Harry had had cause to discover over the years, worked a hell of a lot better and harder than ones who were resentful or apathetic.

Besides, it wasn’t like Harry couldn’t afford it, giving his PA an extra bit of time at lunch or an extra break here and there was a lot less costly in the long run than having to re-interview and retrain assistants over and over again and that was before the ludicrous salary he tended to squeeze in turn out of the Authority.

Jesús hopped out of the Escalade, feeling a bit out of place driving the fancy rig but understanding why his “company car” was the way it was.

Harry wasn’t just a wealthy, if eccentric, Englishman.

He was the Council Mage, the most powerful magic user on the planet.

And Jesús was his representative on the “human” side of things, which would naturally spill over into the supernatural arena sooner or later.

How Jesús represented him could mean a great deal to their people, make or break contracts and treaties among the other supes, cause strife or ease tensions.

Much like the envoys, Jesús was now part of the public “face” of Harry Black, billionaire – or maybe more it was hard to say with old-world immortals – and Council Mage.

And like it or not, that public face counted, which was the reasoning – despite it poking a bit at Jesús’s pride – behind terms in his employment contracts regarding company phones, cars, cards, and clothing allowances among other things.

Harry at least was decent like that.

He didn’t expect Jesús to be able to swing the sort of presentation required of his PA at times on his salary alone but made arrangements for him to be taken care of.

Jesús still wasn’t sure how he felt about having to go see Harry’s tailor in New Orleans on the upcoming weekend, even if he saw the necessity, but it was better than presenting himself in a way that would bring censure or shame on either his employer or the magical community as a whole.

Soft brown eyes took in the mostly-filled dining room, a couple cops frowning over plates in a booth against one wall, constructions workers crowded around a few tables, a duo in a little better than average work clothes at the bar with a black man wearing nice cream slacks and a fine cotton button down in bright orange to match his headwrap all chatting amiably, Jesús picking out what he thought were real diamonds flashing at the ears and on the wrist of the businessman…a pretty businessman with full lips and bedroom eyes and…that’s a distraction he really didn’t need on his very first day of work.

Though he wouldn’t mind catching a closer look as there weren’t many places free and one of them that wouldn’t be rude for a single person during the lunch rush was two stools down from Mr. Bedroom Eyes.

“Welcome to Merlotte’s.”  A scruffy-but-handsome man told him as Jesús took up post at the six-seater bar, the only Latino in the whole place which might or might not be a problem from the glances he was picking up.  “Getcha something to drink?”  He asked as he handed over a menu, Jesús giving him a quick scan at a bit of energy _snap_ that came off of Scruffy as their hands brushed.

Shifter or another kind of were.

Hard to say without more information but definitely one the animal spectrum of supes given the reddish-haze Jesús saw when he _looked._

“Lemonade if you have it.”  Jesús said, cocking his head a little.  “I’m supposed to ask what you have for my boss, Harry?”

“Ah, yeah.”  Sam smiled a little at the guy in his mid-to-late twenties, pegging him at last as Harry’s new PA.  Explained the faint scent of incense and moonlight the guy gave off.  Though Harry being Harry, it stood to reason that his assistant would be magical of some kind, Sam just wasn’t sure what sort… _yet_.  Like with anything else in the supe world, magicals came with varying degrees of skill, talent, and danger.  “You must be Jesús, right?”  Sam asked.  “I’m Sam Merlotte, nice to meetcha.”  He offered his hand, getting another little _zing_ off the magical.  Definitely some power packed in that mild-but-confident package.  “Harry called and told me you’d be swingin’ by for lunch and to pick up his order.  If you’re after the same the _Harry Special_ today is Coconut Shrimp Curry with Rice.”

“Harry Special?”  Jesús arched a brow.

“You wouldn’t know it to look at ‘im.”  Bedroom Eyes leaned forward and winked at Jesús.  “But Sugah Daddy is good at gettin’ ‘is way.  The _Harry Special_ usually cost a lil’ more than most folks ‘round here are gonna pay for a lunch but Sugah Daddy makes it worth Sam’s while to make it so’s he don’ have ta do ‘is own cookin’ middle of the day.  An’ shoot if the _Harry Special_ don’ usually sell out, right Sam?”

“True enough, Lafayette.”  Sam laughed a little.  Like with stocking the booze Harry likes, his pack Alpha made sure that Sam was compensated for stocking the fresh fish and seafood he prefers over greasy burgers or iceberg salads that were the standard fare around Bon Temps.

“Lafayette Reynolds.”  Lala leaned offered his hand to the pretty Latino who’d walked so sweet and shy into his life.  He trailed dark brown eyes over nice olive skin and etched cheekbones.  Sugah Daddy always _did_ have good taste.  At least he knew he didn’t have to fight a losing battle with Harry over this pretty.  Harry had never been the type to mix business with pleasure.  Even at thirteen Lala had known that Harry had a code.  He had _ethics_.  Now that he was older he knew for certain that they weren’t the same as what church-going folk would consider _right_ or _just_ but they were there nonetheless, and they made a whole lot more sense to him than the backhanded ways of church-folk.

Especially since Harry had saved him from a life lived like his Mama or Aunt Lettie Mae, both of whom had been driven crazy in their own ways by the power that passed through their family line.

Lala would take a life with a ward inked onto his skin over one hearing voices from beyond the grave, that was for sure and for certain.

“Business partner in SRF Restore & Rehab, one of your new boss’s many investments ‘round here.”  He finished introducing himself and his friends who were watching him in silent amusement from his right and left, even as he talked around big-ass Hoyt.  “My partners Hoyt Fortenberry,” he gestured flamboyantly to the big-hearted and big-muscled lummox.  “And Jason Stackhouse, one of Sugah Daddy’s cousins.”

“Jesús Velasquez.”  He nodded to the trio, then gave his order to a watching – and amused – Sam.  “I guess I’ll have the Harry Special, thanks Sam.”  He said as the older man passed over a cool glass of lemonade and a straw, then turned back to the trio as Sam wrote the order and wandered over to the kitchen.  “I’m sorry.”  He said, a little baffled.  “But…did you just call Mr. Black, Sugar Daddy?”

All three laughed, Hoyt nudging Lala over the long-standing joke.

“Don’t mind him.”  Jason advised, having been watching the medium-built Latino with sharp eyes.  This was going to be a new variable in their lives, Harry’s wariness over having someone mixed up in his business from outside their cobbled together family having infected all of them to an extent.  But judging by the way he’s handling Lala’s personal brand of introductory hazing he thought this Jesús might suit.  “Lala’s been calling Harry that since he relocated here and started takin’ care of everyone in sight.  He doesn’t mean any harm by it.”

“Ah, fo’ sho’.”  Lala laughed, flipping a hand in the air then picking his fork back up to dig into his own plate of today’s Harry’s Special.  It wasn’t as good as _he_ could do but Terry Bellefleur isn’t a bad cook by any measure.  “Jus’ a pet name, sweetness.”  He winked at the Latino, charmed almost despite himself when it netted him a blush.

Well well.

Maybe conceding to lunch at Merlotte’s to scope out Harry’s new assistant – Jason’s idea, that boy was as protective as a mama bear when it came to his kin, blood and extended – wasn’t a waste of workin’ time after all.

It’d been a while since Lala’d had time for more than a hookup.

And if this Jesús passed Harry’s background checks Lafayette at least knew he wasn’t an axe-murderer.

“How you likin’ workin’ for Harry so far?”  Hoyt asked as Sam carried over Jesús’s order, the shifter keeping an eye on his progress so he could have Terry pack up a to-go plate for Harry once it was looking like the new witch-boy running around Bon Temps was getting close to ready to leave.

“It won’t be boring.”  Jesús said with a little laugh after thanking Sam for the plate and the refill on his drink.  “That’s for sure.  At the moment it’s a lot of figuring out Harry’s schedule, who his people are, who to go to for what, that sort of thing.”  He shrugged.  It was a lot of information being thrown at him, but from what he could tell Harry wasn’t uppity like a lot of the more powerful – or older – supes could be, so there was that at least.  He’d figure it out and Harry wasn’t just throwing him into the deep end unprepared though he figured the Mage would start testing him one way or another once he’d gotten something of a gauge of Jesús’s capabilities.  Given who it was…he was kinda looking forward to rising to the challenge.  “Have to go have a fitting for business suits and stuff, _that_ I wasn’t expecting.”

“Comes with the territory.”  Jason told him with more than a little sympathy.  He’d been there.  At least now that he was married he only had to deal with Amelia micro-managing his closet instead of Harry, Gran, and Sookie.  “He meets with some muckety-mucks at the House sometimes or down in New Orleans.  Gotta look the part.”

“Yeah, I get it.”  Jesús shrugged again, even as the flavor of the shrimp made him realize why Harry was willing to subsidize a bar’s kitchen.  Even with magic some chores could be productivity sucks, especially middle of the day.  Having a ready-solution near to hand like Merlotte’s for tasty lunches made sense if you could afford it…and from what he’d seen of Harry’s operation so far he could definitely afford it.  “Just going to be a bit of a new experience for me.”

They chatted idly for another ten or so minutes, the trio behind SRF filling Jesús in on some of the places around town or within a quick drive in case he needed to pick something up for Harry or what have you, Sam chiming in when he wasn’t filling orders from the pair of waitresses working the tables and booths, then as Jesús was close to finishing they rose and tossed some bills down on the bar for Sam to clear away…only for a business card to be placed down next to Jesús’s drink by a cocoa-skinned hand.

“Jus’ in case you’d like some help wit’ that shoppin’ trip, sweetness.”  Lala leaned down, getting a nice sense of fresh herbs and a bit of smoke off of the pretty Latino.  “Or anythin’ else fo’ that matter.”

Blushing lighting up his cheekbones, Jesús gave a nod and picked up the business card, spotting the handwritten number on the back as he slipped it into his shirt pocket, Lafayette giving a lush, smokey laugh before tapping the bar one more time with his hand and slipping away, Jason and Hoyt already heckling him as they wandered out of the bar and grille, their workers following not long behind them, taking the silent cue that lunchtime was over and leaving the place about a third emptier than when Jesús arrived, a gap that was filled when the parish road crew arrived in dirty boots and sweaty t-shirts.

“He’s harmless.”  Sam took pity on Jesús, hiding a quick grin at the byplay behind a cough.  “A flirt, but harmless and that offer was genuine.  He respects Harry too much to want to make you feel uncomfortable in a bad way.”

“Thanks, Sam.”  Jesús laughed a little, handing over the company card for the two lunches as the other man passed over a paper bag with a couple to-go containers inside, likely having separated the curry from the rice to keep it from being a soggy mess when he gets it back to his boss.  “I appreciate it.”

“No problem Jesús.”  Sam smiled.  “With Harry finally caving to hiring an assistant none of his friends around here are gonna want you scared off on your first day.”

Oh, Jesús wasn’t _scared_ by Bedroomed-Eyed Lafayette Reynolds.

Though what he _was_ …he wasn’t quite certain of that much, not just yet.

Perhaps taking him up on his offer might just be what the brujo ordered to help him figure that bit out.

…

Perhaps the last thing Erik was expecting when he rose for the day the evening after the tribunal was to waken to find a series of texts from Pam that he had missed coming in just before dawn in his turmoil.

  * _Pam: Authority guards are at Fangtasia._
  * _Pam: Erik where the fuck are you??!!!_
  * _Pam: Fucking fantastic._
  * _Pam: Fuckhead_
  * _Pam: The guards were an advance team, securing the guest accommodations. The Chancellor is here with another vamp._
  * _Pam: I fucking hate you for making me deal with this._
  * _Pam: Roast in hell fucktard!_
  * _Pam: Chancellor, guest, and guards have taken over our basement, I’m staying here even though you won’t snap the fuck out of it to handle this!_
  * _Pam: You OWE ME asshole!_
  * _Pam: I want Prada for this bitch!_
  * _Pam: Can’t fight the bleeds any longer, you better still be undead in the evening or I’m going to resurrect and stake your ass myself!_



Eyebrows high on his forehead, Erik blinked.

Plenty of anger coming through loud and clear, but Pam was seriously worried both about why the Chancellor was in Area 5 after the tribunal and Erik’s radio silence.

He gave an instinctual check of his bond with her, finding her still in her daily death as the sun still had about an hour before setting.

Time enough, he should think, to deal with some emails and send her a response so she wouldn’t do anything _rash_ with Roman around to see it…as well as start on some _research_ regarding his mate and how best to woo him, something Erik hadn’t had to do in a serious manner since his human wife Aude.

Erik knew wooing an Englishman of indeterminate age – other than _ancient_ – and awesome power would be a different thing entirely than that of a neighboring village nobleman’s daughter.

He needed to use patience in that he couldn’t expect to snatch up Harry Black and carry him away to his favorite home as his most primal instincts demanded he do the moment he realized the sorcerer was his mate.

All he could see _that_ leading to with the clarity afforded by his memories sorting themselves during his daily death was a fireball to his balls – or worse, his face if he was supremely unlucky.  The former would hurt more, yes.  But if Erik had to scar somewhere he’d take the place easily hidden than on view for the world to see though it was all a moot point given that with Pythia’s intervention he’d managed to control himself.

He had a path.

Now he needed a plan.

And to find out what the _fuck_ Roman was doing in his Area.

In the meantime, however, he was pleased to see that an absent order emailed to his dayman Bobby Burnham had been carried out and the opening salvo of Erik’s newest campaign to conquer had been delivered as requested.

Gods, did he love the internet even as it had made living as a vampire ever-more-complicated to hide the _secret_ before the Great Revelation, as within a few minutes of vampire-speed typing only slowed by the cell phone browsing speeds of his Blackberry he had a handful of ideas, some of which might be more applicable than others.

Time would tell.

One good thing about Harry being an ancient being like Erik – though not a vampire which made everything both exponentially more complicated and interesting – was that _time_ wasn’t a constraining force.

He didn’t have to worry about Harry falling ill or aging or any sort of mortal considerations whilst planning his courtship of the other ancient.

And given that his formal residence and offices at the former Compton plantation were now a matter of public record, Erik didn’t have to worry about accusations of stalking or invasion of privacy under those pesky human laws if he wanted to send his future _gemål_ a present or two to draw Harry’s attention and make his interest known.

Erik felt it the moment the sun breeched the horizon and was outside, locking down his house in moments and taking to the air, knowing he’d be able to clean up at Fangtasia and get fresh clothes.

The sooner he arrived at Fangtasia to deal with the situation the sooner he could placate his progeny and get back to planning his attack on the walls around his _älskling’s_ heart.

Well…he could get back to planning as soon as he coughed up his black Amex card for Pamela to take out her ire on his bank account via the Prada fall collection anyway.

…

Elsewhere a few hours later, in a rundown house on the border of Bon Temps and greater Renard Parish, three vampires found themselves hideously weakened, almost _human_ on rising for the night.

A weakness they recognized with a trio of roars.

One of their fuck-and-feeds from the prior night had been infected with Hep D.

Given that one’s, Liam’s, fangbanger was still there that meant it was Malcolm’s piece of ass, Jerry…who was conveniently nowhere to be found.

No matter.

The Hep D would work its way out of their systems in a week or so, quicker depending on how much they fed.

Unfortunately for the fangbanger.

After all: you are what you eat.

And she was just what the vampire ordered for flushing that fucker Jerry out of their systems.

…

Meanwhile, in the center of Bon Temps, a young waitress named Dawn was getting ready for a night out at a vampire club across the state line in Tyler with Fangtasia closed for the night, unknowing that it was one of the last things she’d ever do.


	12. Politicians and Other Parasites

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Eleven: Politicians and Other Parasites**

Erik landed from his flight to Fantasia to find that the Chancellor and his party had already departed, a fact which did little to alleviate his confusion over what-the-fuck they were doing there in the first place.

A quick – and snippy – conversation with Pam had him turning over his Amex and hitting the shower attached to the office, snagging a fresh change of clothes from his office closet.

If he had to go deal with Area business and petitions rather than track down Roman and get answers – something which would be ill-advised as the Chancellor hadn’t stayed to speak to him – he was going to do it clean, though at least the night wouldn’t be a total waste given that he still needed to do more research.

Though what bothered him above and beyond the situation with Roman was that Pam couldn’t tell him who his companion was.

In fact, she couldn’t even describe him, a problem that both Longshadow and Thalia – who had stayed with her mate rather than returning to an empty residence in New Orleans for the day – didn’t have when Erik had questioned them in the hours before beginning to see petitioners.

It still being summer, they had to deal with late sunsets and early sunrises, hardly ideal but better than the extremes that locales closer to the poles dealt with.

The only thing he could think of was that Roman’s companion had some sort of spell layered over him to prevent Pam from recognizing him…but why?

Why would any magic-user bother shielding a single vampire from recognition but only set it to a specific person?

And why Pam?

It made no sense, just one more think to puzzle him in recent weeks.

Erik supposed it was the universe’s revenge for his boredom.

He waited a half hour after opening to speed over to his throne and prepare to spend at least a few hours bored out of his mind by petty complaints and researching when everything in him yearned to fly to Bon Temps and see his mate.

Around midnight he was contemplating giving it up as a lost cause, only a few of his most-persistent pains-in-his-ass still lingering when a text from Thalia had him speeding back into his office, only to come to an abrupt pause at the sight that met him.

Standing next to his desk in a sunshine-yellow pot with a smiley face was a handful of plants nearly as tall as he was: sunflowers.

A smile was twitching at Thalia’s pretty face, the Greek handing over an envelope that he assumed at accompanied the odd sight, Erik tearing it open after studying it but finding nothing unusual about it: it was just the standard card that came from florist shops unless you specified otherwise like his _welcome_ to Harry…and then it clicked, an amused grin tugging at one side of his lips as he saw the wording on the card and placed the meaning of tall sunflowers in his recently-acquired knowledge of flower meanings.

Harry was an Englishman and they pretty much invented that shit as they were used in the modern era.

Though he appreciated that his future mate clearly had a sense of humor.

Who else would send a damn vampire _sun_ flowers, meaning aside?

_Thank you for the welcome._

_~ HB_

Tall sunflowers, meaning: appreciation.

It was as close to a “thank you” flower that he knew from his research and appropriate from an envoy or the Council Mage to the local vampire Sheriff.

But still… _sunflowers_.

“Have them taken to my Shreveport residence.”  Erik ordered, still grinning in amusement.  “It seems our neighborhood sorcerer has a sense of humor.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”  Thalia nodded, already taking out her phone to text James to take care of it.  Gods knew that he’d be happy for a break from keeping peace on the club floor.

“And Thalia?”  Erik arched a brow at his lieutenant.  “I should _hope_ that I will be getting an explanation _soon_ regarding the use of Area 5 resources without notice.”

“Soon.”  Thalia nodded, glad that at least Erik understood the bonds between mates and wouldn’t order it from her like some Sheriffs or Monarchs would of an underling.  “I believe you will be enlightened either tonight or tomorrow upon rising.”

“Thank you, Thalia.”  Erik dismissed her back to her post, deciding to deal with some Area paperwork over a Royalty Blended before going back out to deal with his annoyances.  They always seemed so _eager_ to irritate after he took these small absences.  “That will be all.”

…

To Harry’s amusement, when Roman arrived to finish negotiations after Jesús had left for the day, it was in an identical Escalade to the one he’d driven home, Holly’s elder boy Rocky offering to drive Jesús’s older Ford Explorer back to the brujo’s home in Shreveport with Holly following behind to take Rocky back home after, Harry’s reimbursing them both for their gas and time.

The vampire contingent had no sooner arrived complete with a pair of guards for Roman than Harry’s lawyer Desmond Cataliades – whose firm catered to most of the supes in the United States and some abroad – pulled up next to them in his vintage hunter-green Camaro.

An order from Roman had the vampire guards taking up posts at the front and back of the plantation house, Harry holding open the door for both vampires and Cataliades but notably _not_ offering the guards an invitation.

If there was a problem for them to handle it wouldn’t be coming from Harry’s quarter and any suggestion otherwise would have been nothing less than a massive insult, something that Roman easily conveyed to his goons with a single stern glance when it seemed as if one of them might protest not following the High Chancellor inside despite him having no issues with his previous visit…though the Chancellor _was_ entertained that Harry had revoked both his and Colin’s access after they’d left, as shown by him having to invite them back in upon arrival.

Revocation could take place at any time – the magic was intelligent to that extent – but an invitation has to be issued within a vampire’s hearing, access can’t be granted remotely.

Though if anyone could figure out a way to manage it the ancient vampire was certain it would be Harry Black.

“Mage Black.”  Roman nodded in greeting to the oldest-living (as far as anyone knew, and even that was a new development in the supernatural world) magical human on the planet.  “Thank you for arranging your schedule for our negotiations.”

“Naturally.”  Harry nodded in return, leading them into the same sitting room as before, Desmond taking up the wingchair he preferred as Colin stood at the ready this time – settling into his new position as Harry’s guard if he had to guess – at the entry way.  “Refreshments anyone?”

“Yes, thank you Harry.”  Desmond replied with a nod.  “A brandy if you please, for me.”

“I’m fine, Mage Black.”  Colin shook off the offer, both being on-duty and having _dined_ on the donor blood kept available in the Fangtasia basement via refrigeration before arriving.  “Thank you.”

“I won’t say no to another goblet of your exquisite bloodwine, Mage Black.”  Roman told him with a half-smile.  “Who is your supplier?  My mate would enjoy it very much.”  Gods knew that getting ahold of bloodwine outside of their family’s main stronghold in Persia was an effort in futility – or it was anyway.

“I am.”  Harry gave the vampire an enigmatic smile as he went through the process of summoning and teleporting the requested refreshments.  “Or more specifically, I own Cornovii Enterprises, a conglomerate which includes _Saith Dagrau Wineries_.”

He did love his puns, though this was one of the more obscure.

Saith Dagrau, Welsh for seven tears, referencing the myth of the Selkie that Harry started as in some lore it was thought a maiden could summon a male selkie by crying seven tears into the sea.

It was also the foremost purveyor of bloodwines in the world – and the most expensive, with vineyards crisscrossing the globe to ensure the finest harvests and best selection of grapes to create wines specifically vinted to be blended with donor blood for vampiric consumption.

Though the grapes and wines that don’t make it through this process still become quite palatable vintages for the human market.

Gods love vampires but they could be short-sighted.

Other than a few of the true ancients, it was as if they’d collectively forgotten the art of making bloodwine, most just making it at their homes by blending off-the-shelf wines with donor blood – as if that could even come close to a bloodwine specifically chosen and blended, with only the Monarchies of Persia and Assyria not purchasing bloodwine from any of Harry’s interests when last he’d done a spot-check on the wineries’ records.

“Then you agree.”  Roman said, after shelving his surprise over the revelation, taking another sip of the exquisite blend.  “Working together is in the interests of the entire supernatural world.”

“Of course.”  Harry arched a brow.  “I agree with your proposal to take up the position of the SBA spokesperson, with Colin stepping in as necessary to give the vampire perspective.”  Harry nodded towards his new guard/assistant/co-chair.  “It is the contract that is in question, not the goal.”

“Excellent.”  Roman smiled, nodding toward Cataliades.  As Harry had given the name of his lawyer for Roman to contact, he’d emailed the reputable demon with an overview of the situation and the terms needed on the side of the Authority, something he was sure Harry would have done as well, giving Cataliades a framework to begin with.  “Shall we begin?”

“We shall.”  Harry agreed, Desmond taking his cue and pulling out a trio of roughed-out contracts from his case and a laptop allowing him to make any changes on the spot.

Like the vampire and mage, the demon agreed that this SBA business was in the best interest of them all and needed sorting as soon as possible so Harry – one of the most capable beings if at times whimsical and terrifying, sometimes at once – could begin shoring up the weaknesses of the supernatural cause in the human-public eye.

Desmond went through the standard legalese of terms and what-is-used-herein foreword then began with the actual contract terms, simply highlighting the important points as both mage and vampire read along.

“Section One outlines the details of Mage Black’s compensation by the Authority as the head of the Sentient Being Alliance and spokesperson.  Commensurate with his experience and worth as a member of the High Council, as a Mage of ancient origins, and taking into account the numbers presented by each party, a median of twenty million dollars a year has been outlined.  Upon completion of his first thirty days, his salary will be guaranteed for the first year.  In addition to his salary, the Authority will supply a line of credit to pay for any and all expenses accrued in regards to the SBA and his position as head and spokesperson including but not limited to: wardrobe, travel, personnel, networking, and appropriate gifts for SBA employees, contractors, and contacts on specified holidays.  This line of credit shall be no less than five million dollars per year though can be reviewed at any time by the High Chancellor and increased upon presentation of an immediate need by Mage Black.”

Desmond paused, taking a sip of the ice water Harry had summoned along with his brandy, then continued.

“Section Two outlines a life insurance policy that is standard for non-vampires under contract with the Authority.”

Harry arched a brow but didn’t bother debating the point as Desmond outlined what would be a generous insurance policy – for anyone else.

Let them think that he’s simply long-lived.

It wouldn’t be a problem – for him anyway – if the Authority or those with access to this contract at least assumed he could be snuffed out as easily as any other non-vampire.

“Section Three outlines Mage Black’s duties as head of the SBA.”  Desmond moved on, knowing even without looking over that Harry was amused at the life insurance policy.  Enigmatic creature that he was, Desmond had a damn good idea that it wasn’t needed, especially as _long_ as he’d known Harry.  He’d seen him bounce back from things that would kill even a were or normal shifter – which some thought Harry was.  Still, he was his lawyer not his priest.  Let him play his games with the vampires.  At least it wouldn’t be boring to watch as the pieces fell where they may.  “Requiring at least one televised interview a month and review of potential and current proposed legislation regarding the supernatural cause at a total of no less than eighty hours a month, which is commensurate with the contract between the late Nan Flanagan and her work with the AVL.”

Though Harry was going to be paid much more than that harpy had been.

Between his status as the Council Mage and a Mage in general, he was _worth_ more than a conniving politician.

Even if Harry has been that _too_ in his long life.

“Section Four covers the Authority’s provision of a guard and assistant for Mage Black, as covered under the vampire Colin Wessex’s attached addendum.  Per Mage Black’s request, the vampire Colin of the line of Seth will have to submit to a secrecy and non-disclosure agreement regarding the Mage’s affairs and will receive a secured cell phone provided by Mage Black for business regarding Mage Black and/or the SBA.  This point is non-negotiable.”  Desmond warned the High Chancellor.  “Given Mage Black’s position with the High Council, he cannot have a member of his retinue that is not bound thusly.”

“Understandable.”  Roman nodded.  Though regrettable, given how little anyone seemed to truly _know_ about Harry Black.

Even Colin didn’t know much of him, having not been in his right mind during the ritual which had stripped his previous Maker from him and given him over to a new one.

“Now.”  Desmond settled in to watch the two ancients bicker – even if only for form.  “Points of contention?”

“What were you smoking when you asked for _more_ than twenty million per year?”  Roman demanded with an incredulous glance at the ancient asshole across from him.

He was worse than fucking Niall Brigant.

“Please.”  Harry snorted rolling his eyes.  “As if your demand of _hours reviewing legislation_ is any more reasonable.  Nan had nothing better to do – except undermine the Authority, apparently – whilst I have duties to the High Council as well as my investments to look after.  A compromise.”  Harry offered when it looked like Roman’s face was going to turn an interesting shade of aubergine.  “I’ll take your insulting salary as is, in exchange the Authority will provide a second assistant to review and fulfill the legislation requirement and advise me where and when I need to put pressure.  I have shit to do, Roman.”  Harry told him.  “I’m not about to kill my social life because Nan was a humorless twat who preferred politics to people.”

Roman scowled at that but given Pythia’s instructions had little choice _but_ to agree to the compromise even if he still thought the salary demanded was ludicrous.

He gave a sharp nod, thinking quickly through the candidates he’d trust in such a position but also to work with a non-vampire without fucking it up.

“David Callahan.”  He decided, taking out his Blackberry and sending a text to David’s maker Ramsay.  “Not too young, not too old, and familiar with politics even if he hasn’t dabbled since his turning outside of the vampire realm.”  He arched a brow at Harry.  “I’m presuming that you’ll want him under the same terms as Colin?”

“Of course.”  Harry shrugged, eyes a bit narrowed as he tried to place why that name sounded familiar.  And with a bit of dread given that the last few times he’s recognized a strange vampire – Colin aside – it hadn’t meant anything good.  “I’m assuming that Sheriff Northman will be informed of the new residents of his territory and their obligations which negate most of the demands he might place on their time?”

“A discussion that will take place later this night.”  Roman agreed as Desmond got to work adjusting the contract and creating a second addendum for one David Callahan, vampire.  “In addition to the on-demand audits of the expense account, a quarterly review will also be mandated and any expenses over five-figures will be subject to approval.”

“By whom?”  Harry arched a brow.

“Tentative approval by either Colin or David.”  Roman decided.  “With immediate review as soon as can be reasonably arranged by myself.”

“Agreed.”  Harry nodded, Desmond filling in the new terms then glancing between them in question.

“Renegotiation of the contract.”  Harry mentioned.  “Every two years _or_ upon a major life event such as: marriage, mateship, birth of a child, or death of a descendent.”

“Every three years,” Roman countered.  “Or upon a major life event.”

“Any attempt upon my life by a vampire shall be cause for either immediate termination of the contract or renegotiation at my discretion, with hazard pay of a hundred thousand dollars per instance I choose not to terminate or renegotiate.”  Harry countered in turn.  “Non-negotiable.”

“Done.”  Roman winced.  He wasn’t naïve.  Until some vampires got used to the idea of Harry as the “new Nan” he was going to have to pay out that hazard pay quite a bit.

“Then gentlemen, unless there are additional terms.”  Desmond said a moment later, after waiting for any more discussion.  “I believe we have an accord.  Harry, I’ll need use of your printer and a second witness given that Mr. Wessex is also a party to this contract.”

“Not a problem, Desmond.”  Harry waved him off, rising.  The demon knew where the “public” printer for such events was on the first-floor rather than the one kept in his office.  “I’ll go wrangle a witness if you gentlemen will excuse me for a few minutes.”  With that he popped away to retrieve his “witness” Adele who was ready and waiting in a sedate set of a flowing skirt and a trim blouse, her protective necklace in place and simple gold studs in her ears.

“Ready dearheart?”  He asked with a soft smile for his descendant.

Adele gave him a crisp nod, holding in her excitement over meeting her first vampire.

She wondered if any of them had been in the States during the Civil War?

…

When Harry had done his teleportation trick to bring back a witness, Colin had _not_ been expecting him to come back with an elderly human woman, let alone one who’d charmed even the humorless Authority guards when Ms. Adele – as he’d been instructed to call her by his new boss – had preferred walking back to her home “across the way” rather than have Mage Black pop her back with his magic, Roman ordering Jerome to see Ms. Adele safely home and inside.

Though he had to say, he’d been more than a little amused at her disappointment upon finding out that of the four vampires, it was one of the ones who weren’t staying that had been in the States during their Civil War.

Colin hadn’t even been alive yet during that era, let alone across the pond.

 _That_ didn’t happen until he followed his second Maker to his territory in 1907 before eventually leaving for a position training with Roman in the Authority ranks.

He could already tell that working with the Mage was sure to be entertaining if nothing else and came with a ready supply of Royalty Blended or donor blood when his duties kept him attached to Harry rather than able to go find his own dinner.

Though the thought of having to restrict his hunting to Fangtasia was less than appetizing, unless he could find a friendly regular donor in the area he’d probably be spending a chunk of his free time running back and forth between New Orleans when he wasn’t traveling with Harry for tv interviews or political meetings in D.C.

Roman had promised to email Harry a copy of the interviews already on the books for Nan, as well as a full listing of all their contacts for various television stations, personalities, and politicians for him to get to work.

He’d offered to send over a draft of the Vampire Rights Amendment that had been floating around the AVL and being pushed on both the state and national level, only it seemed Harry already had a copy along with a workup of what the Council would like an ideal Sentient Beings Act/Amendment to look like.

Colin had reviewed both, finding that they were almost identical except for language being changed to being species non-specific, preferring the use of sentient being or sentient people over vampire or human.

It was good work.

Too good to be a making of a single day.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Harry had maneuvered Roman into putting him into the position he’d been after the whole time…except that he _knew_ the orders came from the top, having gotten his own message from Pythia regarding his new position with Mage Black, which to most vampires would be considered a demotion, especially for David who would be – technically – taking a bigger status-hit than Colin, being quite a bit older though not nearly as old as say Sheriff Northman or the High Chancellor.

“Better get that secrecy spell done.”  Harry sighed, rolling his head on his neck and rubbing at his nape, nodding towards the stairs once Roman and the guards had taken their leave.  “Do you have a place to stay?”

“The Authority set me up with a residence that I’m probably going to end up sharing with David.”  Colin told him honestly.  Considering what they were paying him and David, plus taking care of the residence, he doubted Roman was going to swing another safe house after the extortion Harry had done over his salary, the Mage even negotiating his assistants’ salaries in their addendums to make sure the Authority didn’t try and screw them.  Colin got the sense that Harry partially trusted Roman but seemed to have a disdain for government bodies in general given how he’d sneered over _politics_.  “It’s within the Area.”

“Okay.”  Harry nodded.  Good enough for him.  “Let’s get this done then I’ll show you around the borders of my land and where it abuts my neighbors or Bon Temps proper.”

“Fine with me.”

Another vampire wouldn’t be bothered about the secrecy spell given that a Maker’s command could override _anything_ , including their survival instincts.

But Harry…Harry was different.

Anyone who could _strip_ a Maker’s bond wasn’t someone to underestimate, even leaving everything else aside.

Colin was certain that the Mage would be able to do exactly as he’d said and not even a Command could override Colin’s soon-to-be-bespelled silence on matters regarding one Harry Black, Mage of the Council and Head of the Sentient Beings Alliance.

…

Erik was still in his office reviewing paperwork when Roman and company arrived, the High Chancellor announced via a warning text from Pam before Thalia showed her mate and his guards into Erik’s office, though at least the sunflowers had been removed to his home in Shreveport by James before the ancient arrived, even if a hint of their fragrance remained in their wake.

“Chancellor, welcome to Fangtasia.”  Erik rose and gave a crisp – and exact – bow to his Maker’s blood brother as the ancient gestured for his minions to wait outside before holding out a chair for his Mate and setting down the briefcase between them after clasping arms with Godric’s progeny.

Were he in another office, he would have to resort to code or some other maneuver in case of eavesdroppers or bugs.

But given that Erik was Godric’s they could easily converse in his blood-brother’s native language, a tongue long-dead except to a handful of vampires who spoke it, all of whom existed in their House Line.

Including his Mate, given that of all the languages all three spoke, it was the least known and had no modern equivalent to help with translation.

 _“I trust your progeny reported my presence here last night with a companion as well as my guards?”_ Roman asked, popping the locks on his briefcase and removing a small pile of paperwork.

 _“She did.”_   Erik cracked a smile as he took the offered paperwork.  _“You had her in quite the tizzy.”_

Thalia huffed a quiet laugh at that, having caught at least _part_ of that tizzy in the form of Erik handing over his Amex to his pissed-off childe.

 _“Unintentional, I assure you_.”  Roman chuckled, sharing a glance with his love.   _“On orders of the Authority, Area Five will have two new members of the territory.  As they are stationed here on Authority business they will be exempt from the normal duties of a vampire in a Sheriff’s area though they will be expected to follow general laws.”_

_“Which vampires?”_

_“Two of our House.”_ Roman informed him as Erik sped-read through the papers, which he’d have to redact in certain places before filing them with the Monarchy per Authority instructions.  _“David Callahan and Colin Wessex will be serving as guards and assistants to the Council Mage Harry Black as he retcons the AVL into the new Sentient Beings Alliance and takes up position as both SBA head and spokesperson.”_

Erik blinked at that.  His mate had just been made the new Nan.  And been confirmed to Erik as the magical High Councilor.

No wonder Pythia was insistent on him having patience.

That was a lot of shit to dump onto even shoulders as broad as his _älskling’s._

 _“Colin is unknown to me.”_   Erik told Roman with a frown.  _“A youngling?”_

Roman wasn’t touching _that_ fucking quagmire with a thousand-yard pole, simply humming in what Erik would take as agreement.

 _“He’ll do well in the position.”_   Roman said instead.  _“A residence has been procured for the two guards to share given that neither of Mage Black’s homes in Bon Temps are suited for housing a vampire let alone two.”_

Erik nodded having seen the address in the files, an address about five minutes from his _älskling’s_ home if he was remembering the Bon Temps area correctly.

That alone would be a benefit to Erik as he only had a single vampire stationed in that portion of his territory given the low population of rural Renard Parish, though it seemed more and more vampires were arriving every day given the hostility they faced in Central and South America as well as the extortionate taxes or demands under some Sheriffs.

Erik just wanted them to behave themselves, pay their taxes, and leave him the fuck alone.

Not a whole lot to ask, really, especially considering what some Sheriffs demand.

 _“The success of the new SBA is vital to the work of the Authority and the Council.”_ Roman told him honestly.  _“Human-on-vampire violence is on the rise.  The Mage’s work could provide a much-needed change of course.  I want you to do everything in your considerable power to keep the peace in Bon Temps and the surrounding area so that Mage Black can focus on the SBA and not issues like that worm Compton,_ am I understood?”  He asked, switching back to English.

“Perfectly, Chancellor.”  Erik nodded, rising along with Roman and tucking the paperwork into his private safe for sensitive documents that he collected at Fangtasia before moving them to a truly-secure storage at one of his residences.  “Area Five, as always, is at the disposal of the Authority.”

“Excellent, Sheriff Northman.”  Roman smiled, clasping arms once more with the Viking, then took the briefcase back up before offering his mate his arm.  “We shall take up no more of your time this rising.”

“A pleasure as always, Chancellor.”  Erik told him, retaking his seat to complete the paperwork for his newest residents on his computer, shooting off another emailed order to his dayman Bobby while he was at it.

The revelation of Harry’s new role gave him the perfect opening for another gift, this one much more personal thanks to the research he’d done but still appropriate.

Taking out some of his personal stationary that he kept at Fangtasia for emergencies and a fountain pen, he dashed off a card to go with it.

A final touch.

One he couldn’t help but hope Harry would reciprocate in his response, even if said response was limited to a single line and a hint of his intoxicating scent from a card being handled by his own touch.

“Well?”  His childe demanded, pushing into his office once Roman, Thalia, and the guards had taken their leave, the lingering vampires giving up once the Chancellor arrived to monopolize the Sheriff.

“Authority business, Pam.”  Erik told her, running one hand through his shoulder-length hair with a frown.  “Do you think I should change my hair?  It’s been like this since the Revelation.”

Pam rolled her eyes with a scoff at the diversion, unhappy that he wasn’t being more forthcoming…especially after he and that asshole Chancellor had carried out ninety-five percent of their conversation in a language her Maker had yet to teach her, before giving his question serious consideration.

“The color _has_ gotten a bit one-note.”  She agreed after studying him with a canny eye.  “I miss your highlights from the nineties and the length _is_ a bit 1983 or grunge rock.  We can do something to update it.”  She rolled her eyes.  “The vermin will lose their damn minds over it.”

“That sounds fine.”  Erik agreed, as the highlights he’d had for a period had reminded him of his human lifetime where many of his people had blond, sun-streaked hair.  “Soon, yeah?”

“Mhmm.”  Pam tapped one toe.  “You’re really _not_ going to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“New residents in the Area under orders from the Authority.”  Erik revealed, clicking send one last time and then logging out of the computer to head home, Area business complete for the night.  Alone.  As unless stated otherwise by Harry he wasn’t going to fuck up his chances with his _älskling_ over a fangbanger.  Damn good thing he stocked donor blood or Royalty Blended for just such a time or when he didn’t want to bother with glamouring his meal for the night.  “Don’t be too hard on my Amex on your night off tomorrow.”

Pam snorted.

“Don’t you just _wish_ asshole.”  She wrinkled her nose at him before spinning away to lock up with a huff.  “Not after worrying me out of my damn _mind_ last night.”

“Love you Pam.”

“You too.  Twat.”

 


	13. Remnants of Home

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Twelve: Remnants of Home**

Harry was up until near-dawn when Colin had to depart going over the entire getting-to-know-you song and dance he’d already done once that day with Jesús, though Colin had a partial advantage in that he could rip through a lot of the background paperwork and information faster than any human could…something he’d get to go over _again_ with this David once he arrived which according to an email from Roman that came in about two hours after the Chancellor had left Bon Temps would be arriving from the vampires’ Gallic Court in Bourges at the end of the week.

A couple hours of sleep and then he was back at the mansion, which after walking the boundaries with Colin he was thinking of renaming Cypress Grove after the one near the Bellefleur border, unlocking it and repeating his waking routine from the day before while he waited for Jesús to arrive.

His new PA needed filled in on quite a bit after the previous night, not least among which is his new night-dwelling counterparts.

At least with having vampiric assistants he wouldn’t have to worry about sending the brujo into vampire territory.

Depending on the age and knowledge of a vampire, or the training they received from their Maker, some could sense magical humans better than others, making using one for any errands or messages involving unknown vampires an uncertain prospect at best if the magic-user didn’t know how to _mute_ their power and scent as Harry could – and even that wasn’t foolproof at times, such as with Colin’s second Maker who had known in a single look that Harry had a great deal of power and might be up to the challenge of saving Colin from an uncaring and negligent maker.

As it was, he wasn’t certain how much Roman intended to disclose to the Northman.

Or how much – exactly – even Roman knew for a certainty instead of rumor, supposition, and conjecture.

And of that, how much Roman would or could share with the Sheriff of Louisiana’s Area Five.

Roman had clearly told Northman _something_ as when Jesús entered the office, for the second day in a row it was with a coffee tray in one arm and a plant in the other…one much more personal than a generic houseplant and in more than one way Harry discovered as he silently rose and took it from his PA, setting the plant that he hadn’t seen in person since leaving his native shores in its cheerful white pot with a yellow smiley face, an inverted version of the one he’d sent Northman in turn for the mini-pineapple, on the coffee table to study it.

One callused and scarred hand – both life and swordwork taking their toll on his hands in many small nicks here and there before he learned to move faster and take greater care – lifted and gently brushed against one white spike.

“What is it?”  Jesús asked, once again puzzled.

“White heather.”  Harry answered, swallowing harshly.  “Native to my homeland and a gesture of good luck.”

Jesús’s brows lifted at the visible emotion on Harry’s face, more of a reaction than he would have expected over a simple plant, though that was likely due to him having no real understanding of homesickness having been quite the globetrotter with his mom dragging him from country to country and state to state before he turned eighteen and resolutely settled in Northern Louisiana, their last stop before his birthday.

“Northman again?”  He asked instead of drawing attention to his boss’s reaction, the other man nodding and plucking the envelope from where it was tucked in the deep green foliage.

“Different stationary.”  Harry told him absently, though the watermark was the same.  Opening it, he tagged it as likely being Northman’s personal set instead of what he allows his people to use on his behalf, given the notch-higher quality from yesterday’s vellum and the narrow – barely there in fact – border of crimson near the edge of card.  “Similar message.”

Though notably this time he didn’t show it to his PA before tucking it away.

Good luck with Nan’s mess.

I hope it doesn’t ruin your sense of humor.

Thanks for the laugh,

 _~_ _Erik Northman_

…

Harry was getting ready to send Jesús off for lunch again when his phone rang.

His personal cell, not the business landline or his new SBA cell or his Council cell, his _personal_ number though he had them all routed through a forwarding service to one secure device with a backup ready and waiting in case he lost it, with different lines and people under different ringtones.

“Yeah Sam?”

“We need you to come down for lunch, Harry.”  Sam told him, voice tight.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s been another murder.”  Sam blew out a breath, rubbing at his eyes.  “Harry…it’s my waitress Dawn.”

“Fuck.”  Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, already snapping up his keys and gesturing for Jesús to follow.  “I’ll be there in five, leaving now.”

“Harry…”  Sam sighed, knowing that his Alpha needed to know one piece more than anything else.  “She had fang marks on her neck but I already did a bit of _investigating_ ,” while wearing fur.  “There wasn’t any stench of undead around her place.”

“Shit.”  Harry groaned.  That made things both better and so much worse.  At least if it was a vampire pulling this bullshit he could dump it in Erik’s lap.  As it was it was a PR nightmare certain to rile up anti-vampire sentiment in the town and surrounding parish.  “I’m in the car, try to keep a handle on the talk Sam, though you should seriously consider shutting down even if just for one night.”

Hanging up he turned to Jesús who had climbed into his Jeep’s passenger seat as Harry finished talking to Sam, the Mage starting the car and pulling out of the drive as soon as he was buckled up.

“We have a problem in town.”  Harry explained quickly.  “As of, well, _now_ we’ve had two murders of women who _associated_ with vampires.  Maudette Pickens a bit ago and Dawn Green last night – or so I’m assuming until I know more – and Bon Temps isn’t exactly a beacon of peace and fairness despite the work I’ve done with it since I arrived over a decade ago.”

“Small, rural, deep in the Bible belt.”  Jesús rattled off.  “It’s impressive you’ve gotten them into a neutral mindset – generally speaking – instead of what I can imagine it was like before you showed up.”

“Yeah, well.”  Harry snarled deep in his chest.  “This asshole murdering women is trying to undo my hard work, something I am _not_ about to tolerate in my own backyard.”

Jesús nodded.  “What’s the plan?”

“Right now, gathering information.”  He answered.  “Though now that it isn’t just an isolated incident I’m going to have to alert the area Sheriff since it’s a bit of a grey zone with the known proclivities of the women in question giving us a big-ass victim profile to look at.”

“Fangbangers.”

“Fangbangers.”  Harry nodded, then shot Jesús a sideways glance.  “Though I better not hear that word out of your mouth in public.  Consider it a rule to live by whilst you’re in my employ: derogative language of any kind is to be avoided as much as possible.”

“Got it.”  Jesús winced.  Harry had disappointed-parent face _down_.

That thing was damn-near lethal.

He had no intention of seeing it sent his way again, though realistically he knew it would be hard if not impossible to avoid.

Still.

He could give it his best shot.

…

Jesús took the only empty seat at the bar, dead in the middle between Lafayette and one of the guys who looked like he worked the road crew as his boss went straight over to Sam, a waitress with red-rimmed eyes coming over to take his order while he took in the tense air polluting the bar with everything from grief to condemnation to hate, a particularly noxious mix.

About ten minutes later saw Harry bringing over two plates, one with Jesús’s burger and the other what looked like fish and chips, his boss setting his burger down in front of him before moving to stand and eat at the end of the bar, his electrified-sea eyes tracking every last whisper and flinch in the bar as he worked on his lunch and a tall glass of chilled something or other.

To Jesús, it looked like he was _waiting_ , though for what he didn’t know.

At least until his happened.

“Hey Black!”  One of the rednecks muttering over a midday pitcher of beer and nachos called from across the room, the noise level in Merlotte’s instantly dropping into silence, a scene Jesús had never seen in his _life_ despite what he’d read in books or seen in movies of a room quieting to hear one person’s words.  He honestly didn’t think things like that _happened_ in real life.  “What do you think about this fanger killin’ our women?”

Harry stilled mid-motion, lowering his glass of mead back down to the bar top with an audible _click_.

“For one.”  He said drily, eyes alighting on the rude asshole.  “I rather doubt a _vampire_ would have any interest in strangling a woman to death without draining her.”

“Well…yeah…but…”

“Furthermore.”  Harry continued, dismissively overriding whatever Royce had to say.  That one he was pretty sure had been dropped on his head as a baby.  More than once considering he’d once said something about Lala being in the bar giving his burger AIDS and gotten beaten down _hard_ by the man in question for it while Jason and Hoyt took care of his idiot friends Chuck and Wayne.  “I think that whatever _human male_ murdered Maudette and Dawn is one thing above anything else – besides crazy – and that’s a coward.”

“Wha’ ya mean?”  The construction worker next to Jesús asked.  Rene, Harry thought, worked for the road crew and part-time for SRF.

“If all he wanted was to take out someone who associates with vampires I’m right here.”  Harry held out his arms and pushed away from the bar, spinning slowly in place.  “My investments and feelings regarding vampires are hardly a secret and I’m a helluva lot more visible than two young women.  If this _coward_ wanted to hurt someone who helps vampires, killing me would do a lot more damage than Maudette or Dawn or a thousand women and men like them who shared intimacy with vampires.  Here I am.”  He smirked, all-but-daring the murderer to come after him.  They wouldn’t.  He wasn’t wrong about them being a coward.  “The only reason I could see why this sicko didn’t try for me instead of either of those poor girls is against me _he could lose_ unlike a pair of women who from all signs didn’t put up much if any a fight.”

Harry reached over and took a look, deep drink of his mead, polishing it off as the gossip-hungry crowd likewise drank in his words.

“As I said: this is a human man and a coward at that.”  He shrugged, dismissing both the subject and the killer with it.  “Nothing more and likely a great deal less.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Sam muttered to his alpha, senses reaching and searching for any flares of rage or anything that would give them a direction to look.  “I’d say that was a dare.”

“Good thing you know better then.”  Harry shot him an amused glance from under inky lashes, crunching his way through his last few fries.  “Even with that they won’t go after me.  I’m not wrong about the cowardice angle.  This man’s a bully, nothing more, just one a great deal more violent than many ever become.  Hey Bud.”  Harry wandered over towards the Sheriff’s booth, leaning down and whispering in his ear.  “You might want to send the case details, the victim information, to the surrounding Parishes.”

“You think this wasn’t the first time?”  Bud frowned.  Now that he had two bodies it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“You tell me.”  Harry arched a brow.  “There seem anything _faltering_ in these murders…or was it practiced?”

“You want a guard on your place?”  Bud asked instead of revealing information sensitive to the investigation.

“Mine? No.”  Harry shook his head with a little laugh.  “I’m about never alone anymore with business kicking up.  Adele though…”

“We’ll take care of it, Harry.”  Bud told him, clasping hands with the department’s main benefactor when it came to anything they might need out of range of the budget, like the K9 they’d needed and been denied last year to help crack down on drug trafficking between the Texas-Louisiana border.  “Ms. Adele’s a fine woman.  Nobody wants her hurt because her cousin has opinions that don’t sit right with every last body in the Parish.”

“Beauty of living in America now, mate.”  Harry winked, broadening his accent before turning back to pay the tab and get back to his place.  “Freedom of speech and all that.”

“Some speech, boss.”  Jesús noted, chewing at his cheek as he tried to ignore the heat from Lafayette on his right side who’d been whispering comments every other minute to see if he could make him blush again.  Though this time at least he was prepared for Lafayette’s flirtatiousness and managed to give some of it back.  “Ready to go?”

“Mhmm.”  Harry peeled off a couple bills – that Jesús was certain had Ben Franklin’s face on them – and passed them over to Sam.  “You closing up tomorrow, right Sam?”

“Ayeah.”  Sam nodded with a sigh.  “Can’t swing it realistically longer than that but my people can’t afford too long of an unscheduled break either.”

Harry held out the bills.  “Give them time off with pay then for tomorrow.”  He suggested, flicking the money when his beta didn’t immediately take it.  “How short-staffed are you going to be?”

“We’ll manage Harry.”  Sam waved off the implied offer of help from his Alpha, only taking the cash because he knew Harry was sincere in not wanting who he considered “his people” which for Harry meant most all of Bon Temps and the surrounding Parish, to suffer for taking a bit of time to see to their personal well-being.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime, you know that Sam.”  Harry nodded, turning for the door as Jesús bid the others goodbye and following his boss out, feeling only a little like a duckling.

Harry waited until they were safely ensconced in his Jeep before turning towards his PA with a smirk.

“You and Lala?”

And Jesús’s cheeks turned as bright a red as the dangerous-eyed Lafayette Reynolds had managed all lunch hour.

“Maybe, I, uh.”  Jesús rubbed at his neck.  “I’m not quite sure if he’s just playing or not.”

“Oh, Lala does love to play.”  Harry chuckled, turning onto the country road that led to Cypress Grove.  He’d have to order an arch or something with a big sign to get people to stop calling it the Compton Place.  After having _met_ Bill Compton he wanted nothing more than to never had to think of the worthless bag of undead flesh ever again.  “But he’s a good man.  You could do a lot worse and not much better.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that idea.”  Jesús huffed a little laugh, feeling a little odd discussing his potential love-interest with his boss.  But then…it _was_ a small town.  “What’s on the schedule now?  More studying?”

“For you but you can take it home.”  Harry nodded.  “I’ve got a basic guide I mocked up for my cousins back when I started teaching them about the supernatural that I want you to go over, plus a couple more advanced ones on things like etiquette, culture, and politics that you should study after that.  Normally I’d help but,” he sighed.  “With Dawn’s murder I have to at least give the area Sheriff a head’s up so they can warn known “fans of the fangs” about the danger creeping about in the dark of night.  Well.”  He snickered a little.  “Other than vampires and the rest of the supe world anyway.”

“If you don’t mind I can take them home and get out of your hair, let you rest.”  Jesús agreed to the suggestion, knowing his boss was probably going to be up late.  “When do you want me to come in tomorrow?”  He asked as they pulled into the mansion’s drive.

“Let’s call it one o’clock.”  Harry decided.  “I want you to meet my night assistants, though David isn’t here yet you can still meet Colin and have an idea of who to contact if something needs handled at night or passed over to one of them.  You won’t be working with them too closely but there will likely be some overlap at some point.”

“No problem.”  Jesús nodded, taking the books Harry held out from the case in his office, tucking them away in his bag and bidding the older man goodbye.  “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Jesús jogged down the steps, not looking back at the mage he’d left behind.

Though if he _had_ he would have seen him once more standing at the white heather, running one finger down a delicate blossom with a meditative look in his vibrant eyes.

…

Harry’s cabin, being only two rooms, would make one think it was rather basic from the rough wood and stone exterior, until one began cataloging the little details that gave the truth away: Harry might have a fondness for simpler times etched onto his heart but he in no way disdained the comforts, conveniences, and luxuries of modern life.

A dichotomy in mean ways, those who knew him best would say.

He wore simple clothes – most of the time – but always in organic, natural, soft materials from the raw silk of his favorite open-necked tunic to the supple deerhide of leather lace-up trousers, the cotton of his “normal-people” pants and shorts to the cashmere of a winter sweater.  His suits were exquisitely tailored in London, dress shoes and boots custom-made and imported from Italy and Spain, and he drove a car – on occasion – worth as much as most of Bon Temps put together.  While at the same time, he always stopped to buy a cup of lemonade from the child-run stands that sprung up in summer.  His hair never saw a barber’s scissors until it was brushing into his eyes.  And left to his own devices would be found more often than not either swimming in the little lake abutting the bayou or sunning on his dock.

Waking from his nap, Harry stretched, eyeing the natural hickory floorboards with regret that he couldn’t just turn over and go back to sleep in the sun streaming in through the skylights in the roof and turning the floor a stunning, glossy black-striped cream.

His cabin had a fireplace taking up almost the entirety of the wall opposite his king-sized four-poster bed in natural-tumbled river rock, the main room one expanse of space just over a thousand square feet, while his bathroom was massive enough to almost double the square footage of his cabin with steam shower, whirlpool bath, double sinks, and rich slate tile on the floor, copper fittings for the fixtures, finished with walls in endless cream except where banks of windows – protected via spell for privacy – looked out over the lake and a walk-in closet that finished out the room’s footprint.

Harry _could_ conjure anything his heart desired when it came to clothes, but he couldn’t deny that there was still a bit of a wonderment to him in the wide variety of _choice_ he’d been exposed to over time thanks to his wealth and the shifting sensibilities of time.

He would never miss the pomp of the Tudor court, but he did miss the colors for quite some time when fashions once more turned dour.

Though he wouldn’t miss hose, no matter how long he lived, anymore than he would parachute pants.

Padding over to his kitchen area of the cabin, separated from his bedroom area with a series of hand-painted silk screens, in nothing but his skin, ink, and torc, Harry ruffled one hand through his hair when the sight of the plant sitting on his little breakfast nook table woke him up in an instant.

He didn’t know why the idea that Northman had taken an interest of some kind – though he wasn’t certain of what sort or to what end, _yet_ – in him but that he both knew _enough_ about Harry to select a plant from his homeland of appropriate meaning…it’d shaken him for the first time in a long, long time.  To be frank, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so taken aback and surprised by a simple gesture.  He refused to believe, no matter how much _sense_ it made to him, that the cause of his shock wasn’t that the gesture had been made but that he _cared_ that it had been made.

Harry was neither blind, delusional, or overly modest.

He knew he was attractive, powerful, and dangerous; Northman was _hardly_ the first being to send him a gift.

Then…why did this one matter so much?

Lifting his hand, he brushed a finger over a delicate white bloom for the third time since the plant had arrived at his public residence.

He couldn’t leave it there, popping with him, in his arms, to his actual home instead unlike the mini-pineapple he’d left.

No, it was of his home, selected specifically for him – as it had to have been, white heather wasn’t a common plant, especially in Louisiana – to have meaning to him.

Harry thought that the shady side of his porch beside the lake would suit it quite well.

Groaning and frustrated with himself – as if he was a just-flowered maiden receiving their first suitor’s token! – Harry stepped away from the plant and continued over to the fridge and the remains of the Greek salad with shrimp he’d made up earlier in the week, needing the fuel after a heavy fried lunch and his standard breakfast of fruit with coffee, washing the fresh veg, cheese, and protein down with several tall glasses of water instead of the crisp white he would’ve preferred.

He was going to walk into the territory of a vampire that had made an interest of undetermined variety in him clear – his head needed to be as crisp and fresh as the crunch of cucumber and tomato under his teeth.

Rinsing his dishes, he loaded them into the small cabinet-fronted dishwasher, bringing his water with him into the bathroom where he started the water for a bath as he planned out his appearance for the evening with the canny eye of a veteran general – which he was – or socialite – which he’d never been even as a courtier among the Tudors – for best effect to give him an answer, one way or another, regarding whether Northman’s interest in him had a physical component or not.

Given what he’d heard about Northman since settling in Bon Temps, especially post-Revelation, he knew that if his interest was transitory lust he would’ve already made a blatant overture to that effect.

That he _hadn’t_ , he thought, might be at the base of his own odd reactions to the gifts from the Sheriff.

Well.

Besides the fact that Harry was reacting to the gifts, especially ones as simple as a pair of plants, at all.

Over his long life he’d been courted by Lords and paupers, Ladies and harlots alike.  Humans and vampires, Fae and weres, all at one time or another had attempted a liaison or alliance with the ancient mage.  Some he enjoyed, others he spurned.

Never had a gift so simple stayed on his mind so much.

Bath oil blended to enhance the sheen of his skin, nails, and hair as well as his scent was added to the water in exacting drops, his skin buffed and polished, his teeth and nails immaculate, hair tousled into waves just short of brushing his eyes.

A thought had him tapping one finger on his torc, revealing it for the night, then shimmering from the effects of the moisturizing and softening bath oil he padded on quiet feet over to his closet, eyeing all of the options before going simple rather than outrageous – no matter how delectable he knew his ass and thighs looked in his leathers.

Tonight wasn’t a night for leather.

While he wanted his own curiosity sated before whatever Northman was up to drove him to distraction – or drove him further to distraction – he would be there as the Council Mage informing a vampire Sheriff of an ongoing issue in his area.

Smirking, as he was _well aware_ what bright white did to his bronzed skin, shining eyes, and rich hair, he pulled out a summer-weight set of white Egyptian-cotton slacks that were perfectly tailored, a white leather belt with a gold buckle embossed with the dragon-sigil of the Council Mage, and a white dress shirt discreetly shot with real-gold threads, opening the collar to show off his torc and rolling his sleeves up to just below his elbow, wrinkling his nose at the necessity of _shoes_ before slipping his bare feet into soft white leather loafers.

He would look like a bright spot of summer invading a faux-gothic underground.

Harry set his Mage’s ring in place on his finger, the heavy gold set with the dragon and emerald of the Council Mage the same as his belt buckle, then scruffed his hands one last time through his hair as a glance at the dark sky showed it was time for him to leave for Fangtasia.

A brief debate over popping over or flaunting the Veyron before flaunting won, still clinging to what mysteries regarding his power he could, and as he paced outside to his extravagant car Colin arrived for his shift.

“Off somewhere?”  The British vampire asked, cocking a brow at the outfit.  It was a lower-key version of the suit he’d seen him in the first night they’d met but worlds away from what he’d worn yesterday.

Especially the old necklace around his neck.

 _That_ he’d never seen him wear and yet with the ease Harry moved it was clear nothing on his body sat uneasily on him.

“Fangtasia.”  Harry told him, tapping his keys in his hand.  “We’ve now had two murders of local women after consorting with vampires.  Northman’s clientele need to be warned.”

“You’re not thinking vampire.”  Colin noted, a bit surprised.  “Are you?”

“No, I’m just.”  Harry sighed, shaking his head.  “I’m afraid this is plain old human hate at work with a dash of mental illness: nothing more.  Still.”  He shrugged.  “There’s a certain _implied_ bit of forewarning in living close to another supe authority.  Your night is your own, since I won’t need a guard until my new position becomes common knowledge.  Study, patrol Bon Temps, whatever you’d like.”

“I suppose since I’m being paid either way.”  A smile twitched at Colin’s pretty mouth.  “I’ll do a bit of both, yeah?”

“Have a good night, Colin.”  Harry waved him off.  “I doubt I’ll be out until dawn but still…”

“Right.”  Colin returned the wave, then offered up a cheeky: “Don’t let the vampire bite.”

Rolling his eyes with a little scoff, Harry ducked into the creamy leather upholstery of the Veyron, the engine starting with a roar he never got tired of, nothing ahead of him for miles but open road and anticipation, deciding _against_ sending a warning text this time.

He wondered what he’d find in a human-filled Fangtasia…and just what Erik Northman got up to when he wasn’t presiding as Sheriff of Area Five in his homage to bad puns and worse taste.


	14. A Touch of Destiny

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

_Author’s Note: I’m changing canon around a bit here, making it so Pam was the only to fuck-up in Paris and be punished by the Authority, along with Erik never having taken up with his human Sylvie._

_Also, I’m aware that “Heathens” by Twenty One Pilots hadn’t released yet in Summer 2008 but just go with it since the hook is perfectly Harry._

**Chapter Thirteen: A Touch of Destiny**

Erik woke Tuesday at his normal – barring injury or being a bit low on blood – two hours before sunset in his Shreveport residence, snapping into instant awareness as he’d done every night since waking a vampire after his turning, though this rising it was to the sight of bright sunflowers staring at him, a bemused smile brightening his handsome face as he laid in his California King bed, silk sheets caressing his skin and plush mattress soft under him as he stayed in simple contemplation of Harry’s gift for several long moments before rising.

His little box in the bayou might be his most peaceful residence in the area but it did lack a few comforts present in his Shreveport Sheriff’s residence, most notably the completely finished and furnished basement, the sun-tight shutters on all of the above-ground windows, and high-speed internet.

Well.

And indoor plumbing, but since as a vampire he only needed such for bathing it wasn’t a total loss most of the time in order to see the stars and just _be_ without the constant cacophony of the world surrounding him.

Out of pure habit he tested his bonds to both Maker and Progeny, finding no surprises.

Godric’s was still blocked.

Pam still slept.

Same as they’d been for over a decade now, as unchanging as their physical selves were outside of their hair and nails.

Some, sillier, humans and supes that vampires were _completely_ unchanging after rising which was ridiculous since even back when Erik was alive they knew that those buried if unearthed for any reason would have had hair and nails grow.

Modern science supplied the reason: as hair and nails were made up in part by dead cells, something which vampires still had despite being undead as they continued to consume blood, hair and nails would continue to grow as the dead cells from blood consumption were shed.

Science had uncovered other things about vampires as well, though many even among the vampire community refused to believe some of it, preferring the magic of lore to the facts of reality, which given that magic animated them and changed them, wasn’t a surprise even if it was both stupid and naïve.

Erik took it all in, every last iota of information gleaned about his species, did his own research and tested the repute of various studies.

For him, though the lore and tradition were important, knowledge could be a weapon for them or _against_ them…and Erik would prefer the former even if others were content to ignore the latter.

Making his way bare as he’d been born – both times – to the refrigerator that kept his packets of donor blood purchased through the _Aequitas_ group of blood banks that had sprung up within days of the Great Revelation – proof that some used information to better advantage than others – offering premiums for blood donations but also donating a full quarter of their donations to hospitals in every city where they had a donation site, Aequitas operated under an umbrella of being the “Leader in Blood Research” when in reality they sought donors of specific types to cater to vampiric tastes.

Donors of certain rarity were harder to come by than others even for vampires who could scent out their personal favorite blood types, while ordering from Aequitas could be expensive but much more efficient if one had a taste for virgins or diabetics or vegans or whatever.

Erik had never been that fussy like some vampire could be after the first decade or so.

Yes, some bloods tasted better to him than others which was why he pulled out a package of virgin AB- but he could just as easily dine on any healthy donor, even if the way he’d been feeding since his first rising had lost a lot of appeal after finding his Mate.

It was Harry he yearned for now, not pretty blondes with plump breasts or athletic brunets with strong muscles…though Harry certainly fit the latter description.

Aequitas even stocked part-Fae blood and magic-user blood which was impressive and spoke to their iron-clad donor-privacy policy to prevent vampires from raiding their donor information to kidnap a Fae halfling or a wiccan to keep as blood on tap.

Erik would not be in the least surprised if some idiot had managed to get well and truly addicted to part-Fae blood and attempted it anyway.

Blood warmed to perfect 98.6, Erik suspicious that they _have_ to have a magic-user on staff at Aequitas since blood procured from them didn’t have that plastic-y aftertaste that standard donor blood did (though it was still a hundred times better than TruBlood, _anything_ was better than TruBlood) he moved through his underground house-beneath-his-house to his office, he sipped his way through his breakfast as he read and answered emails at the speed only available to a vampire, outpacing even the strongest shifter, were, or Fae.

He smiled a bit at the confirmation that Bobby had delivered Erik’s second gift to Harry, wondering absently if he’d get another thank you tonight…and if it would be just as entertaining as the last.

Answering what he must, taking care of a few business items and moving a few investments based on a pattern he was seeing in a few stocks, wincing at the new balance on his Amex when he logged in with dread to check the damage Pam had done, Erik rose and sped to the small kitchenette sink, washing and drying his mug before heading to the bathroom to clean up.

Tuesday was always a busy night of enthralling the vermin.

It was as if taking a single night away from Fangtasia was _painful_ to some of them given how near-rabid they could be about offering themselves to anything with fangs when they reopened on Tuesday after seeing to Area business on Monday.

Still, he couldn’t complain.

Running the business was Pam’s punishment from the Authority, costing her eighty-percent of the profits for another thirty years when her sentence will be complete.

On the books Erik was her “partner” but in reality the place had been signed over to her as a punishment, especially when it had been a shithole of a video store instead of a vampire bar, and as far as anyone _not_ the Magister knew it was Erik’s business and Pam was his Second to keep Pam’s fuck-up in Paris out of common knowledge.

Not that he’d ever tell her, but now that he’d met Harry he was a lot less frustrated with her spoiled antics in Paris, since without them he never would have met his mate.

She’d bitch if she heard him say it, but in this he saw a touch of destiny.

Had he never turned her, she never would’ve fucked up.

Had she never been punished by the Magister, he wouldn’t have been serving as Sheriff of Area 5 for something to _do_ while she served out her punishment in Louisiana.

Had he never become Sheriff, he likely never would have met his mate though it still could’ve happened since either way he thought Harry would have ended up as the head of this “Sentient Beings Alliance” but it had taken Erik more than a look to realize what Harry was to him.

Even if he’d met him under different circumstances, there was no _guarantee_ he’d have known what Harry was to him besides a particularly powerful and interesting sorcerer.

It was a risk Erik would never wish to take.

Better deal with Pam’s tantrums, Sophie-Anne’s ridiculous demands – though those now were a thing of the past, and the paperwork that came with running an Area than never meet Harry.

Erik would have dealt with any number of annoyances for twenty years if it meant meeting Harry at the end of them.

And if he was lucky, soon he’d have his luscious mate within his sphere once more, perhaps after his next gift, or if he chooses to take advantage of it then Sunday night at the latest.

Whenever it will be, whether an hour or a month, Erik could hardly wait.

Patience or not, every glimpse of his mate was precious to him.

He could live with Harry in his arms for another thousand years, wake to sight of him every day, and it would never be enough.

For a former manwhore, it was nothing less than a revelation.

…

Pam arched a golden brow from her post carding the vermin at the door to Fangtasia as the sound of a familiar engine roared closer and closer to her.

Well, maybe her Maker wasn’t losing his mind after all with his insipid little gifts to the sorcerer.

Though given what he drove, Pam had to admit that sweet little nothings were more likely to get a response out of Black rather than ostentatious displays of wealth…given that Black was capable of the latter all on his lonesome from the look of that _car_.

She pouted – on the inside of course, it wouldn’t do to let her resting bitch face show emotion to the bloodbags – over the indignity of it.

Pam had _begged_ Erik for one of the limited-edition Bugatti’s when the run was announced.

He’d laughed in her face.

The fucker.

Even months later she wasn’t willing to admit that he’d had a point about her ever actually _driving_ it since from the look of Black’s it didn’t have the trunk space for bodies let alone a shopping trip on her Maker’s Amex the way her hot-pink mini-van could, Erik’s sop to her whining.

Stone-cold bitch with a preference for females or not, a single _look_ at Black when he climbed elegantly from his seven-figure toy to the twittering speculation of the vermin was enough to make her want to drop fang, and that was before she got a whiff of him.

“Not hiding anymore, handsome?”  She asked snarkily as the sorcerer took his sweet-ass time sauntering her way, his strange-colored blue-green eyes tracking up and down the line of waiting humans as he moved with all the languid grace of a cat.

“Jorge well and truly killed that idea.”  Harry shot back with an eye roll.  “You have five minors and a cop in line.”  He told her, switching to Swedish for the last bit.

“Show me.”  Pam demanded, standing nearly eye to eye with the tall bastard in her six-inch stilettos and black leather body-con dress.

Instead Harry leaned in and rattled off the description of the bloodbags in question, his purring accent almost sending a shiver down her spine.

Almost.

Though if he ever got that close to her Maker he’d likely find himself filled with fangs and cock in seconds between the sound, smell, and look of him with the spellwork dropped, Pam easily able to note the differences between the various times she’d seen him even if she couldn’t note the signs of magic the way her Maker could.

“Thanks.”  Pam said laconically as she heard the music change from pounding bass to a steady drum beat.  “My Master is entertaining the vermin.  Hope your visit is _entertaining_ , Mr. Black.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be Ms. De Beaufort.”  Harry smirked, already moving in time with the music into the crowd of Fangtasia, vampires and humans alike parting as he moved, leaving a trail of extended fangs in the wake of his scent.

_All my friends are heathens, take it slow._

_Wait for them to ask you who you know._

_Please don’t make any sudden moves…_

_You don’t know half of the abuse…_

…

Erik had dismissed yet another fangbanger offering themselves to him when the distinctive sound of his _älskling’s_ Veyron reached his ears, Erik focusing on the sound of the engine as he kept his face idle as he played Tetris on his phone.

His blood almost seemed to _dance_ when next came the sound of the smooth opening of a car door, then quiet footsteps evenly paced across pavement, his instincts dazzling at the sound of Harry’s rich accent purring its way to him over the raucous of music, bodies, dancing, and the other myriad noises of a successful bar.

As if by magic – and given who it was it very well could have been – a new song began and then there he was: Erik’s mate.

Wearing white and shining in a sea of black, smelling of the Northern seas during a lightning storm and the rich tang of powerful blood, Harry cut through the crowded bar like a knife through silk, tattoos and skin shining through the thin white cotton of his shirt and hinting at the hard slabs of muscle it concealed from Erik’s – and everyone _else’s_ – view.

At least for once, that was the only concealment his mate wore, the heavy mantle of concealing magics lifted and showing ravenous blue eyes the fullness of the bounty that awaited his patience and successful campaign to conquer Harry Black heart, body, and soul.

Power _dripped_ from him, free for anyone with any sense of magic at all to see, filling the air with the heady scent of it and of Harry, the sorcerer effortlessly capturing the attention of vampires and groupies alike as he paid no mind to the dance floor or groups standing in his way as they parted before him as he made his way to his destination – Erik.

The tribal marking over his eyes merely emphasized their beauty.

An ancient golden torc around his neck – a piece of jewelry Erik had never seen him wear before for all that it was the kind that a chieftain never removed even in death – drew all undead eyes to the hollow of his throat and the strong pulse that beat there.

Yes, previously Erik had gotten mere _glimpses_ of the creature hiding behind the façade of playful Harry Black, British ex-pat sorcerer.

Now he was seeing the predator almost as unleashed as he’d been delivering vengeance before the tribunal and one just as deadly and lovely as that vicious being.

If he wasn’t half-way there already, Erik would say he’d just fallen in love watching Harry take effortless dominion over all others in Pam’s little playground.

He didn’t know which gods he’d pleased to be given such a gift.

Even if this gift required careful handling, it was more than worth the wait if it led to displays such as _this_.

A glance at James had the enforcer speeding over with a chair used only for Erik’s most important guests, placed at a ninety-degree to Erik’s throne, then a stool with a sealed, chilled bottle of water appeared beside it, the match to the one tucked beside Erik with an open but untouched bottle of TruBlood upon it for the sake of appearances.

It wouldn’t do to frighten the sheep _too_ much, even as they fed upon it.

With a little quirk of his mouth, Harry noted the chair and the implied invitation.

One thing was certain: if he’d any doubts before regarding Erik’s intentions they were gone with a single glance at desire-darkened blue eyes that did their best to burn away his clothes with a glance.

Erik wanted him.

_What_ all he wanted _from_ him was still in question…but not that, which put a new slant on the two seemingly-innocuous gifts the Sheriff had sent him.

All of which he could obsess over later.

At the moment he had to focus on delivering the information to Erik and getting out without having a putz try and get a bite out of him as teeth clicked down all through the club.

A problem that was rectified in an instant at a harsh, guttural snarl too low for any of the humans to register coming from the suddenly-terrifying Viking vampire on the stage whose eyes had snapped from lust-shot blue-almost-black as the pupils expanded to icy bright blue in his rage at the obvious signs of either blood lust or regular lust from his underlings directed towards Harry.

It was as if the entire club took a sharp breath at once as Harry finally mounted the stage, tilting his head slightly towards the enraged predator splitting his focus between himself and the club before sitting in the silently offered chair at said-predator’s side, the symbolism of his move not lost on the ancient one.

Harry knew vampires.

He knew how they behaved, how they reacted to certain things.

And he unequivocally _did not_ have the time to deal with what his knowledge and instincts were screaming at him regarding Erik’s reaction to both him without his glamours and the reactions in turn of the other vampires towards him.

Nope.

He had a murderer to find, the SBA to get on its feet, Nan’s mess to clean up, and not one but _three_ new assistants to train.

Harry _did not_ , he repeated, trying to scold his libido into behaving, _did not_ have time for the ramifications of Erik’s behavior if what Harry _thought_ he was dealing with was what he was dealing with.

Bright side: at least beyond a single non-verbal threat towards his underlings that Erik had no idea Harry could hear, he hadn’t done anything like what Harry would’ve expected if his theory was right.

There had been no grabbing.

No claiming.

No “mines” tossed hither and yon.

So, that, at least, was a major point in Erik’s favor and likely due only to the control of an old-world vampire.

Who knew?

Maybe Harry would enjoy being pursued this time in a way he never had before.

If his reaction to Erik’s white heather gift was any sign, the possibility was definitely there.

…

“Mage Black.”  Erik greeted his mate when he had himself – and his club – back under control, noting as he did that Pam was refusing entrance to a middle-aged man in a ball cap for having a “fake” id.  That must be the cop Harry’d made.  He had no idea _how_ , but he appreciated it nonetheless.  “Welcome to Fangtasia.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Northman.”  Harry relaxed into the elegantly carved wooden chair, crossing his left leg over his right in a motion that had his tailored pants pulling taut over his thigh and showing the imprint of a hidden tattoo through the light-weight material.  “Unfortunately, this isn’t a social call.”

“Pity.”  Erik arched a brow, preparing to tease.  “I’ve yet to see you in a social setting, only business.  I’m certain it would be a quite _enjoyable_ experience.”

And no, Erik felt zero shame over purring his own accent into his words to watch Harry’s eyes dilate – just a bit – in arousal, testing his mate’s attraction to the hint of Erik’s homeland that yet remained in his voice when he let it, much like his Maker who still sounded of Gaul even two thousand years later.

“ _I came to warn your customers_.”  Harry lapsed into Old Norse, having a damn good idea that Erik spoke it given his origins, though given his looks, age, and height…Harry was thinking a Geats and not a Swede for all that modern humans rarely knew the difference outside of Erik’s homeland.  “ _Bon Temps has a murderer running loose targeting young women who sleep with vampires.”_

Erik scowled.  That _was_ unfortunate.  Though potentially good for the vampire cause if this murderer could be apprehended.  Human-on-human violence regarding vampires was even less tolerated in the current political arena than human-on-vampire.

_“Which young women?”_ Erik asked, Harry pulling out his cell phone and bringing up two pictures to show him.  The Viking blinked.  Well, shit.  That wasn’t good for his campaign.  Though lying about it would be even worse.  _“This one.”_ Erik pointed to one of the women.  _“She offered herself to me though I did not accept.  I believe she left with Liam.  The other…_ ”  He resisted the urge to give a mortal sigh.  _“The other I tasted some weeks ago, before Compton’s arrest.”_

_Before I knew you_.

_“Thank you for your honestly, Sheriff Northman.”_   Harry bit back the urge to smile at the cautious look in the vampire’s eyes.  He didn’t know what kind of humans he was used to but…  He looked around him.  Nevermind.  He knew the kind of humans Erik was used to.  Harry was certain that catfights had likely broken out in the past over which girl – or guy – would get to fuck-and-feed the Viking.  But if Erik was looking for a hissy-fit or a jealous rage over something that happened before he even knew Harry existed he was barking up the wrong tree.

Harry was too old for that shit.

_“You will warn your patrons?”_

_“Yes.”_ Erik agreed to that easily.  _“Perhaps some warning flyers and information-for-reward ones as well.”_

He hesitated then asked.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

_“Did you like your gift?”_

The amused look in his mate’s beautiful eyes told him that Harry had at least an _idea_ of what was going on.

Had an idea and wasn’t fighting it…at least not yet.

_“A piece of home I never expected to find in Louisiana.”_ Harry allowed.  _“Thank you, it was a lovely sentiment.”_

_“_ You two are sickening.”  Pam commented as she sped to her Maker’s side.  “I’m glad no one else in this joint can understand you or both your big-badass reputations would be shot.”

“Nah.”  Harry rolled his eyes, smirking up at the sassy vampire.  “They’re dazzled by the packaging but soon enough they’ll remember that I’m the _same sorcerer who flambéd several vampires_.  With Authority permission, of course.”

He didn’t even have to look to see the effect his mild _reminder_ had on the other vampires in the room – other than those he was fairly certain were part of Erik’s actual retinue – as the amused snicker from Pan and the vicious grin from Erik were any sign to go with the sudden uptick of noise as the younger vampires all went back – nearly in unison – to paying attention to each other or the humans desperate for their attention rather than their Sheriff’s conversation with Mage Black.

Not that it did them any good as beyond those like Pam and Thalia who could speak Old Norse, they couldn’t understand a word that passed between them.

“You really are old as shit, aren’t you?”  Pam asked with her ever-so-tactful manner.  “I wasn’t sure until I heard you speak stone-age to my maker.”

“Pamela, please.”  Erik smirked.  “Iron Age, if you will.”

“Stone Age, Iron Age.”  She rolled expressive blue eyes as Harry gave a genuine smile at the byplay.  “Old as shit is old as shit.”

“I don’t know my exact age.”  Harry answered her question.  “We didn’t keep time among my people in a manner commensurate with the modern era and that was an entire calendrical system ago beyond that.”

“You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?”  Pam asked, an amused grin tugging at her mouth before being ruthlessly squashed.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”  Harry asked, tilting his head to the side in a knowing tease to her Maker, baring a long expanse of bronzed skin to his feasting gaze.  “For me anyway?”

“I like you, for a breather.”  Pam announced.  “Anyone who gives me a gift like Compton to play with is worth knowing.”

“Glad to see I meet your approval, Ms. De Beaufort.”  Harry snarked.

“Where is your guard?”  Erik asked, the question burning at him ever since he saw Harry arrive alone.

“Studying for the upcoming announcement or patrolling Bon Temps.”  Harry answered rather than fight, knowing that there were sure to be better battles to fight against this particular vampire in the days to come.  “We both thought I would be safe enough in your company, Sheriff Northman, besides my well-established ability to take care of myself.”

With that, and his business concluded, Harry rose, tilting his head in a nod to Erik once more then took his leave – though not, he noted, without a giant Viking falling into step with him.

“Going somewhere?”

“Being a good host.”  Erik rebutted.  He didn’t know why – he assumed spellwork but assumption wasn’t the same as knowledge – but he never was able to _actually_ sense Harry when he was in his vehicles.  That still left the distance between his side and Harry’s car to traverse…and even with the established danger – both by himself and Harry – of fucking with this particular sorcerer that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be some shit-for-brains baby vamp that would try it anyway.  “And escorting my guest to his conveyance.”

“Somehow.”  Harry noted with a chuckle.  “I doubt this is common Sheriff behavior, Mr. Northman.”

“Please, Mage Black.”  Erik responded, holding open the door to the outside with one extended arm, Harry having to brush passed him to leave.  “Call me Erik.”

“Alright, _Erik_.”  Harry held in his wonderment and frustration.  Oh.  He _so_ did not have time for this complication.  Not now.  Why now?  Why not literally _any fucking other_ time between his binding and now?  Gods, when it rained it truly did pour.  “Call me Harry.”

“Not Gwrtheryn?”

“Not unless you want me running around calling you Erikír.”  Harry responded but had to add.  “Though, points for being able to pronounce it correctly.  I’ve heard it mangled more times than I care to think about.”

“ _My Maker is of Gaul_.”  He shrugged, speaking in the Classical Latin Godric had taught him among many other languages over the years.  “ _The dialects are different, yes, but neither is anymore complex than my own native tongue.  One of our House is Gael, if I can pronounce her name correctly I can do no less with your own_.”

“Well.”  Harry had little to say to that unless he wanted to _really_ drag this out.  Which for his own sanity was a major no-no at the moment, thanks.  “Thank you for the escort, Erik.”  He unlocked his car, the vampire speeding ahead of him to open his door for him to slip into the low-slung seat.  “Goodnight.”

“ _Godnatt_ , _snygging.”_   Erik replied with a little bow, slipping back into Swedish and closing the door gently on his mate’s luminous face, stepping away from the impressive car to allow him to pull away from the club, his eyes tracking him until a final turn took him out of sight.  “Until next time, _mitt hjärta_.”

…

Translations: _Godnatt_ – goodnight; _snygging_ – beautiful; _mitt_ – my; _hjärta –_ heart; _älskling –_ darling/beloved.


	15. Death Becomes Him

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

_Warning in this chapter for completely made-up ancient courtship rituals for an actual real-world tribe._

**Chapter Fourteen: Death Becomes Him**

Colin stepped out of the shadows of Harry’s porch as he pulled into the drive, ready to report in on the task that Harry had set him via text message before Colin rose for the day despite the little song and dance they’d done for whoever might be keeping an eye on the Council Mage.

“How did it go?”  He asked the Mage as Harry climbed out of the testosterone-on-wheels and made for the cabin, aggravation in every step.

Black was usually a lot harder to read but given that he’d just spent time around Northman and his progeny, Colin wasn’t surprised in the least that he wasn’t as tightly-controlled as he liked to portray.

They were good at that.

Wind them up.

Watch them go.

People were just pawns to them, expendable and of no true value.

Considering the depths that Harry was willing to reach to protect what was his – family, people, or territory – Colin expected to see a frustrated Mage whenever he had to visit Fangtasia.

A chore that Colin’s own duty to Harry excused him from.

A good thing, as the temptation to tear Pamela’s blonde head from her shoulders might turn out to be too strong to resist should he be in her presence any… _ever_.  If he saw her ever.

“Pretty sure Erik wants me as his companion.  You?”

Colin blinked, rearing back even as he followed his boss inside the cabin, still surprised that the mage had trusted him to enter it…though given that he’d had to shed blood to be let through the wards, he’d be willing to bet that if he ever gave harming him serious thought he’d fry like a moth in a bug-zapper.

“Seriously?”  Colin asked, incredulous.  “You’re going to drop that on me and just keep moving?  Northman’s never taken a companion.  Not once in all his undead life.  Other than his Maker and his Progeny he’s never created any sort of bond with another.”

“Not surprised by that.”  Harry told him with a light, thoughtful frown on his face as he moved around the silk-screens, stripping out of his clothes as he went, Colin politely remaining in the “living-area/kitchen” portion until his boss came back around in a pair of low-slung thin unbleached cotton drawstring underwear that wouldn’t have been out of place in Colin’s birth era, though Harry was using them for lounge pants and not as an undergarment.  “He doesn’t exactly scream Mr. Commitment.”

“What the hell has been going on around here?”  Colin asked, taking the bottle of Royalty Blended that Harry offered from his refrigerator then warmed with a tap of his finger on the bottle as the man got out his own chilled mead.  “I mean, I knew about the Compton issue and you filled me in on the murderer, but somehow I missed the part where the Viking was courting you.”

“So did I.”  Harry enlightened him as he padded out onto his dock and sprawled out on an armchair in the moonlight.  “I knew he was after something from me.  That would’ve been impossible to miss.  But I wasn’t certain if he was after an asset or a pet or something else.”

“I’m guessing his reaction to your outfit filled you in on the _something else_ bit.”

“Uh huh.”  Harry took a long pull of the drink.  “How did the patrol go?  Did any fishies take the bait?”

“Nope.”  Colin informed him, dropping down into the chair next to his boss after vamping back into the cabin to rinse out his empty bottle and set it in the recycling bin.  “Though your shifter is right: there is a strange, acrid scent at the most recent scene that still lingers and is peppered around town enough that I can’t pinpoint it.”

“Damn.”  Harry sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to rest on the lounger pillow.  “I was hoping after the scene I made today that they’d try something.  Guess I didn’t push the right button.”

“Well,” Colin laughed.  “You’ll have another shot with the live interview on Friday night.  If _that_ doesn’t spark a fire under your fang-hater nothing will short of strutting around town with a set of fangmarks yourself.”

“Pass.”  Harry winced.  “Until I figure out what Northman’s endgame is – besides the obvious,” he shot a _look_ as Colin snickered.  “None of his appendages are going to get any action no matter how thoughtful his gifts or heated his glances.  I haven’t lived this long by taking risks, of this particular sort, with myself.”

“You’ve never seriously been pursued by a vampire to be their companion either.”  Colin pointed out.  “We’re relentless when it comes to those we’ve decided should be ours.  And the more significant the degree of investment the worse the obsession and the worse the obsession…”

“The more possessive you become and the harder you try to obtain what you feel should be yours.”  Harry finished with a heavy sigh.  “I’m aware of the cyclical instinctual patterns of vampires, Colin.  Roman didn’t ask me to take up my new position on a whim.”

When it came to the various species, Harry speculated, he didn’t think there was likely a single person walking the earth with more information on all of them.

Even Niall’s information likely wasn’t as complete given that he tended to dismiss beings he found “below” him and/or not a direct threat to his people…which was most every species besides the Fae and Vampires.

Knowledge and wealth, the two things Harry had never hesitated to acquire, especially as he’d already had more power than most, though both of those things tended to be powerful in their own ways.

“Soo…”  Colin drawled, arching a brow and looking over at his boss.  “What’re you going to do?  About Northman.”

Harry blew out a frustrated breath.

“I have no fucking clue.”

He paused, thinking a long moment, then added:

“Ultimately, it will depend on a combination of what he wants…and whether I’m interested in giving it to him.”

Colin snorted.

“You mean.”  He stared resolutely up at the stars overhead.  If he caught even a glimpse of Harry he’d burst out laughing at the ancient being.  “Like any other relationship?  Those things you’ve stated rather vehemently to your relatives you’ve no interest in?”

“Shut up and go run a patrol.”

“Yes boss.”

…

Harry’s confusion and inner-turmoil regarding the too-hot-for-Harry’s-good Sheriff of Area 5 was in no way helped along by the semi-expected-at-this-point gift that arrived come morning after Colin had returned to his new residence to die for the day and Jesús had arrived, the brujo bringing it into the office in the exact same routine as the previous two days.

Closing his eyes as if the sight pained him, Harry rose to his feet once again to take the burden from his PA, though this time he wasn’t going to explain the meanings of the flowers – a cut arrangement in an elegant blown-glass vase in an aqua almost the exact shade of his eyes – to him.

If Jesús wanted to know, he could look them up himself.

Nor did he share the card or its contents.

Nestled in a bed of English Ivy (which did little to settle him given that it could mean friendship, fidelity, marriage or any combination of the three) were three sprigs of lesser celandine for joys to come and a single cheerful sunflower, both the ivy and celandine once again native to his home.

_You have brought sun and joy into my territory._

_I could do no less than return the favor._

_Please accept this humble bribe to entice you into sharing it with me once more._

_Yours,_

_Erik Northman_

The stationary was the same as from yesterday, the calligraphy the same as well, and tucked within the envelope was a single ticket to a sold-out showing of Lorcan d’Eath to take place at Fangtasia on Sunday night, part of the monthly concerts the bar put on and charged an extravagant price for tickets to according to Lala who’d gone to a few with former flames.

And the message…

Erik was no fool, he must have noted Harry’s attraction to him without the glamours to help hide the changes to his scent.

With arranging the possible-interaction – he was _not_ going to call it a date – for Sunday after the interviews, he’d neatly removed the excuse of preparing for them from Harry’s repertoire, as the show Roman and Harry had selected to introduce him had been running teasers of an interview with the new face of the AVL starting yesterday morning, as well as the others to quickly follow after all being filmed on Friday.

Erik’s choices in gifts had made it clear he was doing his research, the sort of vampire who didn’t leave things to chance if he could help it.

He felt a bit ridiculous about it, given that he was the elder of them, but he felt more than a little besieged.

Gods.

If Erik made so much as _one_ bad pun about Vikings invading Britain he’d smack him into the next week.

Out loud at least.

Harry knew better than to believe one could police a being’s private thoughts, no matter how much those private thoughts might give one pause.

“Harry?”  Jesús prompted, his boss having been staring at the pretty little arrangement, only about the size of a piece of copier paper and quite small compared to the ones from the last two days, for several long moments.

Shaking himself back into awareness, he snapped his fingers and banished the card and ticket to his cabin along with the arrangement.

He was _not_ going to get anything done if they were staring at him all day.

“Don’t worry about it.”  Harry brushed his PA’s concern off.  “How far did you get into the books?”

…

That night he didn’t leave his cabin, laying out on his dock as Colin alternated between studying or patrolling, Harry making himself as conspicuous a target as he could in cutoffs and nothing else.

All for naught.

The moon set, and the sun rose all with no movement on the front of their cowardly killer.

…

Thursday saw another change in Erik’s gifts as Harry arose to a garland of genuine mistletoe, yet another plant native to his home, draping both his front door lintel and all around his porch eaves though his wards, curiously, hadn’t given him a warning and there was a crisp scent on the air of snow and icy sea.

There was no note.

There didn’t need to be.

Between the traditional meaning of mistletoe and Erik doing the work himself instead of a messenger Harry got the message loud and clear: _I surmount all difficulties_.

A response, no doubt, to Harry’s _lack_ of response to Wednesday’s gift.

Harry rolled his eyes even as he reached up and clipped a sprig with a trio of bright mistletoe berries upon it and set it next to the potted white heather he’d yet to plant as the summer heat was yet too much for the plant to survive without being well-rooted.

Pushy, grandstanding vampire.

Harry cursed his own nature quietly as he continued on with his day.

He should _not_ be finding the Viking this charming with what he knew about his proclivities.

Even if he agreed to be Erik’s companion, Harry couldn’t see an immortal who had spent so long being a manwhore of unrelenting reputation for seduction changing his ways.

And Harry would never consent to _sharing_ his lover with a fuck-and-feed or some pet.

Over Erik’s staked body first.

No, no.

It was in _both_ of their best interests that Harry ignore him, especially today when he was prepping for filming several interviews to be aired over the weekend and filmed tomorrow.

Better Erik get frustrated and give up than Harry be spurned when the Viking decided to chase the next pretty thing that catches his eye after sinking his cock and fangs into his body and his claws into his heart and mind.

 _That_ path ended in nothing but another vampire bonfire and one that he wouldn’t enjoy _nearly_ as much as Compton’s.

…

“Okay.”  Harry stared in consternation at the Friday’s token as it sat innocently enough in the middle of his favorite table in Merlotte’s when he met Jason, Amelia, Alcide, Sookie, and Lala for their standing drinks-and-gossip session, feeling wrung out by the interviews he’d just sat through filming back-to-back-to-back at the New Orleans Hilton, Amelia being the bearer of Erik’s latest gift through some slight of hand he’d probably appreciate when he wasn’t so baffled, consternated, and turned-on all at the same time and muddled from exhaustion.

And just when he’d felt vindicated for ignoring the last two gifts.

The bastard.

Harry staunchly refused to acknowledge the _teeny tiny_ part inside him that had felt…let down when no gift had arrived that morning, well and truly growing into a _mood_ over hot-and-cold vampires by lunch with one of the show hosts he’d spent hours with that late morning, afternoon, and part of the evening.

His disappointment had just been his pride, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince with _that_ lie.

Other than himself, no one knew about all of the gifts and Jesús hadn’t seen the mistletoe.

Though Colin _had_ and there had been _questions_ from the befanged ass of a guard-slash-assistant over it as he’d smelled Erik all _over_ Harry’s Bon Temps property.

“I’m seriously starting to think the tall bastard is actually reading my mind.”  He complained half-heartedly.  “And feeling completely blind,” and blind-sided, “at the same time.”

The reason?

Today’s gift was an English bluebell for constancy, only instead of the actual flower Erik had given him a hand-carved wooden bracelet made of chestnut with the distinctive cup-shaped flowers carved into the beads, the wood he’d chosen associated with luxury and the aura Harry read off of the simple piece – something Harry would have worn in his original era – feeling only of what he’d come to associate with Erik.

More, a flower-chain bracelet usually woven but carved if one could afford either wood or stone and had the ability to do the carving, was a traditional courting gift of the Geats tribe that once ruled Gӧtaland in modern Southern Sweden.

Though, bonus, Harry’d been right about Erik’s origins.

Which _also_ meant that he could expect a culminating gift the next day, as from what he could tell, Erik was following the initiating courtship ritual of his people _to the fucking letter_ beyond Harry’s unexpected drop-in at Fangtasia as otherwise they would not have had personal contact from the first gift to the sixth, with the person being courted expected to either accept or decline the courtship on the seventh day.

Even if in Harry’s case he’d been a little slow on the uptake, the ancient mage only excusing himself as he was probably one of the only beings either alive or undead who _could_ recognize the initiating courtship ritual of the Geats, especially given that many courting rituals and traditions from that era had a similar thematic of proving the worth of the suitor and their ability to be a provider.

Harry felt like smacking himself upside the head as Erik’s lack of, well, _more_ on Tuesday was explained.

That the reputedly outrageously flirtatious Viking vampire hadn’t done anything more than _look_ and escort him to his car – growl at his underlings aside – was a huge fucking sign that something was up.

Harry _knew_ about the Geats.

He knew about every damn tribe that had invaded his homeland during his lifetime from the Romans on down the line.

After all, the more he knew about them the better he could both anticipate their tactics and counter them.

First day: an addition to the pantry of the desired party – well bride or maiden but over his dead body was he going to use that verbiage in correspondence to himself in any way, shape, or form – often the bounty of a hunt, a gift of seed for planting, or if the suitor was wealthier a herd animal such as a sheep, goat, pig, or cow.

Erik gave him a damn mini-pineapple plant, which he’d learned would actually fruit if he took proper care of it.

Second day: a gift of hearth and home.

In the cold northern climes, usually a suitor would provide fuel for their interest’s firepit.

Erik had gone metaphorical, giving him a plant native to his homeland.

Third day: a gift of promise.

Erik promised him joys to come, friendship, and possibly fidelity along with a reason to see him on the seventh day.

Harry rather doubted he was looking for marriage given how vampires viewed as a mainly political measure for alliances unless they were mated.

Fourth day: proof of protection.

That damn garland certainly shouted Erik’s answer to that loud and clear as he _surmounts all obstacles_.

Fifth day: a gifted crafted by their own hands.

Well, that sat staring up at Harry in sanded-smooth beads strung on fine leather cording.

The last gift was supposed to be an expression of why the suitor desired their chosen courtship, what they saw or felt or knew that drew them to that person, the only part of the initiating ritual that was about the suitor’s chosen instead of the suitor’s viability as a match which was more of a show for the chosen’s parents than the chosen themselves.

And even knowing that he had a _lot_ of explaining to do with his descendants-slash-friends who were staring at him in obvious expectation, suddenly he couldn’t wait to see what Erik would do next, and which direction he would take in obliquely telling Harry exactly what the normally stoic – when he wasn’t either pissed off or flirting up a storm – vampire would choose to tell him.

…

Erik was relieved, as he’d had occasion to be more than once, that his progeny both didn’t normally die for the day at his residence and only awoke a few minutes before sunset.

In this case, it saved him another round of mocking as he flipped his TV on to HBO and settled in to watch the introduction of the new “AVL” rep on Real Time, the other interviews that the Authority had made their Sheriffs aware of to promote them to their underlings, trying to spread the new status-quo as far and wide as possible, not showing up on-screen until tomorrow and Sunday morning despite Erik’s spies letting him know about the long day of filming his _snygging älskling_ had been through along with travel to and from New Orleans.

Pam had already gotten _more_ than enough material to try and embarrass him with this week after finding him carving – several times nonetheless – a hobby he hasn’t utilized in several centuries, a lack that showed in his first – quickly destroyed – efforts, easily guessing what – or rather who – had prompted the sudden change along with the charges to specialist florists and other odd purchases culminating in the just-before-dawn activity that had him nothing less than fidgety.

He was tense over both tonight’s gift that he’d had to use a bit of ingenuity to have delivered in hopes of getting Harry off-balance and that it more than any other was likely to tip off the mage regarding his intentions if he knew anything about Erik’s people.

Or even guessed Erik’s people.

It hadn’t even been until after Harry’s surprise visit to Fangtasia that Erik had realized what he’d been subconsciously doing: making his intentions known in the oldest and truest way he knew how.

Harry was already dug that deep into him.

Even if Erik left, went away and never returned to Harry’s side, he would never be rid of him now.

Mates, it was said, _could_ be rejected by a vampire through distance and lack of contact before they bonded, though rejection required acknowledgement.  The vampire had to know that the other party was their mate.  Erik wasn’t certain what happened if a vampire met and then left their mate before they knew them as their mate or vice versa.

Erik had no intention of ever finding out for himself, even if he was relatively certain Harry was still unknowing regarding his status in Erik’s life…or potential status anyway.

Ignoring the initial patter and jokes of the show’s intro, Erik’s focus locked on the wide screen as he heard the host Bill announce: “Please, welcome to the show the new face of the American Vampire League: Mr. Harry Black.”

And there he was, striding out onto the stage with his glamours in place hiding his tattoos, hair trimmed back into a handsome tousle of waves instead of the wild length Erik had grown used to and eyes dimmed down from electric blue-green to a subtler pierce of blue sea either by spell or contacts.  He wore another set of trousers and button-down with a waistcoat pinching in and showing off his trim waist and hips, all of it perfect in tailoring from the thick cream of the slacks – a color Erik was starting to think his mate quite partial to – to the navy blue of the shirt and the cream-pinstriped pale blue waistcoat.  Fine leather loafers in a matching cream covered his feet and the flash of a Rolex shone on his wrist.

He was as beautiful as ever and if some of the whispers Erik was able to pick up through the audio at the studio were any sign, he wasn’t alone in that belief.

“Harry, welcome to the show.”  Bill offered after they shook hands and took their seats at the desk portion of the studio stage.

“Thanks for having me, Bill.”

Erik chuckled as he could almost hear the _swooning_ nationwide over Harry’s accent, let alone what happened in the studio.

“That’s quite the accent, Harry.”  Bill chuckled, as if it was the first time he’d heard it.  “Where are you from?”

“I was born in a little town in the borderlands between Wales and Shropshire, England.”  Harry answered with a dazzling white smile for both the camera and the audience.  “Makes me sound quite distinctive I’m afraid, even after living in _Louisiana_ for over a decade.”

And intentional drawl over the state name almost had Erik dropping trou at the insistent _throb_ of his erection.

“Wow, just when I thought they couldn’t find a classier representative than the late Nan, here you are.”  Bill made a little joke before turning serious.  “I’m sure I’m not alone in passing on all of our condolences over the unfortunate business with Ms. Flanagan.”

“Anti-vampire violence is on the rise, Bill.”  Harry said in response.  “It’s an _unfortunate_ reality and the reason for the new changes on the part of the AVL to try and bridge the divide that has appeared in the United States and indeed around the world over this issue.”

“Right, and we’ll get to that in a minute.”  Bill picked up a notecard.  “First let’s talk about you a bit, let everyone get to know the face they’ll be seeing more and more in the coming months.”

“Alright, let’s.”  Harry shot another dazzling – but so fake, anyone who knew him could tell – smile at the cameras.

“So, you’re a British ex-pat, is that right?”  Bill asked.  “What brought you to the U.S. and now the AVL?”

“Well, Bill.”  Harry answered, shifting a bit.  “Technically I’m not an ex-patriated British citizen.  I hold dual citizenship as a certain percentage of the international citizenry does.  As for why the U.S., my only remaining family lives here and I wanted to be with them, they wanted me here, and we managed to work it out.”

“That’s wonderful, always good to be close to family.”  Bill agreed.  “To be clear: you are a human and so are your family members.  So, why the AVL?”

“I’m as human as you are Bill.”  Harry smiled, then arched a brow expectantly which gave way to a little pantomime of are-you aren’t-you between the two before they reached out in unison and tested each other’s pulses.

Erik rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Clever little monster, that was going to endear him to more people than even his looks or accent.

“Okay, good, good, we’ve got that sorted out.”  Bill announced, waving his arms.  “Two humans discussing the new direction of the American Vampire League.  Excellent.”

Harry laughed along.  “As for why the AVL, Bill, as a person and an international citizen, I’ve seen a distressing trend in the last few years of growing divisiveness.  I became involved and helped chart a course that we at the AVL thought best towards bridging the gap and creating unity, starting with changing the language we use to discuss issues in this country and abroad regarding vampires and humans alike.”

“Such as?”

“Just that.”  Harry gave one of his charming half-smiles.  “Human and vampire.  A clear line of demarcation.  One or the other.  Us or them.  It’s divisive as soon as it leaves the tongue or is seen by the eye.”

“What would you prefer instead?”  Bill asked, cocking his head a bit.  “Surely not humans and subhumans like Reverend Newlin?”

“No, of course not.”  Harry rolled his eyes over the idea of being compared to Reverend Newlin.  “We’re all people, all sentient beings and that should be the language used not something that strips dignity and respect from each other which is why the AVL has announced this week their transition into the advocacy group the Sentient Beings Alliance.”

“And the first act of the Sentient Beings Alliance or SBA was to appoint a sentient being with a heartbeat to serve as their spokesperson and head.”  Bill noted, arching a brow.  “One has to ask why?”

“Perspective, Bill.”  Harry smiled.  “It’s all about perspective.  The late Ms. Flanagan did some excellent work with the AVL, no one is going to deny that.  But at the core the so-called _vampire cause_ is a cause that should matter to any thinking, sentient person.  It’s about equal rights for citizens no matter their origin, race, religion, or creed.  _That_ is the message that is the future not a squabble over human or non-human.  But one of thinking and sentience.”

“That sounds great.”  Bill huffed a chuckle.  “But where before the AVL was headed by a pretty, blonde, vampire American female now we have a handsome, brunet, human, British male.  That’s quite the contrast.  Why is that?”

“Again, it’s about perspective.”  Harry told him with a little headshake.  “There was always going to be a contrast created by anyone taking up the reins of an organization like the AVL after the political victories won by Ms. Flanagan before her violent death at the hands of anti-vampire terrorists.  The SBA doesn’t want to replace her and her legacy but continue moving forward and creating a contrast, as you said, was felt the best way to do that.  I have a different perspective than Ms. Flanagan, one based in international politics and business.”

“You have a wider scope of vision in other words.”  Bill said.  “As the head of Cornovii Enterprises an international conglomerate involved in everything from medical research to security.”

“That’s right.”  Harry said, face lighting up.  “Through my businesses, I’ve seen the way different countries have handled the changes in the last few years, kept an eye on the narrative if you will.  And honestly, I’ve been a bit disappointed in my chosen home for how the U.S. has acquitted themselves when compared to their contemporaries.”

“How so?”

“Canada already has an encompassing legal framework that guarantees rights to all citizens regardless of origin, race, religions, gender, creed, or sexual orientation.”  Harry told him, passion shining in his voice and body language.  “So does France, and Japan, and other countries including that of my birth in the U.K. and their closest neighbor Ireland.  The U.S. has fallen behind.”  Harry shook his head.  “In this it seems that this country is content to be second-rate.  As a country we have taken the taxes and the monetary gains of having a vampire population and given only the meanest of rights and protections in return.”  Even with the glamour Erik could see Harry’s eyes shine with hidden power.  “It’s not enough.  More unless something changes soon, we’re going to lose a percentage of that population base to other countries that are more inclusive.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s simple math, Bill.”  Harry shrugged.  “Despite what has been implied or outright stated in the media, after the early riots only a third of emigrating vampires came to the United States.  What’s to stop them and others from moving, along with all of their often-significant financial portfolios and holdings, to a country that is willing to treat them with equity and fairness instead of taking their money and giving almost nothing in return?”  Harry looked between the camera and Bill.  “I wouldn’t stand for that as a businessman, personally.  Would you?”

…

The interview played almost constantly, being clipped and remastered for news outlets all over the world and YouTube alike.

By the time the sun rose on Saturday morning, a new narrative had taken over the United States.

One not about species but about something that meant a lot more to most: money.

Harry hadn’t just played hardball in his opening salvo against politicians and pundits across the country.

He’d hit them where it hurt.

The first death threat arrived before the interview was even completed, let alone the second and third that aired with both ABC and CNN.

Colin was more than a bit relieved when David finally arrived, the two of them speeding over to Harry’s cabin.

Though he wasn’t expecting his new boss’s reaction to the older vampire from the House of Seth.

“David?”  Harry blinked, setting aside the tablet he’d been scrolling through as he kept an eye on the chatter over both his interviews and the SBA.  “You’re dead.”

David Callahan, vampire turned in 1613 and a descendent of one Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii, gave a fangy grin at his alive-and-well ancestor.

“Undead.”  He corrected, even as Harry leapt to his feet and glomped him, the strength in that body nearly making him wobble.

“It looks good on you.”  Harry told him laughingly, cradling that beloved face with fierce blue eyes.

“Considering I thought _you_ were dead before that interview last night…”  David arched and unimpressed brow.  “Same.”

“C’mon inside.”  Harry snatched up his tablet and ushered both vampires inside, quite glad for the distraction as he’d been struggling to not obsess over Erik’s final courting gift all day – and what he was going to say or do in response tomorrow when his time was up.  “I think you have a story to tell me.”

“Not much to it.”  David shrugged.  “Died on the battlefield, was found and turned by Ramsay and been a vampire ever since.  Somehow since I can see your tan is just as rich as ever and you have a heartbeat I don’t think your own secret is as simple.”

“Meh.”  Harry shrugged.  “Depends on your point of view.”

“Tell it anyway.”

...

…

Translations: _Godnatt_ – goodnight; _snygging_ – hot stuff/sexy/beautiful; _mitt_ – my; _hjärta –_ heart; _älskling –_ darling/beloved.

 


	16. Enchanter's Nightshade

** Blood Sex Magic **

_Author’s Note: For a full list of all the symbols used here and their meanings, see end of chapter._

_We also jump back to the beginning of Saturday and then forward again to David’s arrival, sorry for any confusion but that was just the way it wanted to be written._

__

 

__

 

**Chapter Fifteen: Enchanter’s Nightshade**

_Harry’s Cabin, Bon Temps; Saturday, July 19 th, 2008_

The text came just before dawn.

Colin had left about an hour before, taking his leave and allowing Harry to freak out over both the response to his interview and the reality that he was being hard-core courted by a vampire in peace.

Well, peace and heady anticipation.

It was no wonder Erik had his cell number, given that he’d used it to call Fantasia to turn in the Rattrays.

Honestly, what was surprising was that Erik had never used it before – or even abused it by now.

Though Harry was willing to admit, as he obeyed the instruction from the text – _Step outside –_ that he’d underestimated Erik, perhaps in more than one way, as between the bracelet and whatever awaited him outside, Erik had stacked his final – and most telling – initiating gifts back-to-back with mere hours between them.

He’d never expected a traditional courtship – even one with a nebulous-to-Harry goal – from the vampire after all, when that was so far exactly what Erik was giving him instead of going after him in a more modern way.  Part of that was likely him recognizing Harry’s own age.  Well, age and power.  A smart vampire doesn’t piss off powerful magic-users, especially ones that had skills they were uncertain of.

Necromancy was a largely forgotten art outside of the natural abilities of mediums, but as Harry had thought more than once what the modern era of magicals have remembered of the old ways would be quicker to account for than the sum of everything they’ve forgotten.

Bare feet whispering across smooth sanded wood, Harry found the line of flowers – single buds or blooms in slender crystal bud vases in a slim teardrop shape for some, others in round crystal vases that cradled rioting bunches – leading around the side of his cabin and if he had to guess out to his dock.

Given that anyone with an advanced sense of smell would know that he spent a lot of time out there, almost more than anywhere else, it was a good spot for whatever Erik’s final gift would be as Harry tapped the vases one by one with a finger and sent them to line his kitchen island/bar.

First the pure-white iris: _I have a message for you_ , then a riot of purple pansies in an open rose bowl vase: _You occupy my thoughts._

Message received, Harry thought as the next flower transitioned into _why_ Erik was pursuing him in the first place…enchanter’s nightshade.  A flower native to Harry’s homeland in a single proud spear beckoning him to the curve of his porch leading away from the drive and down to the lake dock, it meant several things, most notably sorcery and witchcraft but there was also a second, rarer meaning.

Fascination.

Erik was fascinated with him.

A tap had the vase taking up its spot between the bowl of pansies, then a few paces later it was joined by a single creamy-white calla lily.

Magnificent beauty.

Well.

At least Harry’d already figured out that Erik liked the way he looked, though that didn’t stop a bright spot of color from taking up position over his cheekbones as he continued in his quest to take in all of Erik’s message…and hopefully get a better understanding of both what Erik wanted…and whether he wanted to give in to him.

The spears of enchanter’s nightshade and calla lily were followed by a second rose bowl, this one overflowing with so much white dittany of Crete for passion that petals fell to the porch steps as Harry sent it into the house, the message of the dainty white flowers one that he’d somewhat expected.

Midway on the path to the dock stood a spike of Comet’s Orchid in another slender bud vase…a recognition of his royalty.

Harry rolled his eyes a little, a bit of his equilibrium returning with back-to-back returns to what he’d expected of the Viking, a vampire who’d been royalty himself to hear Colin and Julian tell of him.  Of course he liked that Harry had been a King, no matter how long ago it was.  It could also be a nod towards his position on the Council as well, since they were considered the highest of the high in the supernatural world, whether that opinion was earned or not.

Just an inch inside the edge of the dock was one last rose bowl filled with yellow ox-eye daisies and another departure from the norm: patience…though whether that mean Erik _had_ patience or if he recognized Harry did he wasn’t sure.

Damn vampire had him all muddled, especially with what he found resting on his favorite lounge chair.

A small package, about the size of a recipe or index card holder, wrapped in raw silk and tied with blood-red silk ribbons with a single snowdrop – _so out of season_ – tucked under the bow, Harry had found the “official” courting gift after following Erik’s little trail of breadcrumbs, the vampire having been quiet enough much like when he hung the mistletoe that Harry had never known he was there, his wards not twinging even once over the Viking’s presence in his territory.

“Snowdrops are for hope.”  Harry murmured, thinking of how they were the first sign of coming spring and warming temperatures even blooming at times with snow still on the ground, giving hope that the cold would break and new growth would return.

Sitting slowly, Harry lowered himself to rest sidesaddle on the edge of the lounger, picking up the small package and feeling the hardness under the lovely length of pure silk, tucking the snowdrop into the breast-pocket of his soft t-shirt as his clever hands made quick work of untying the silk ribbon and wrapping, sending it to join the vases now lining his kitchen, revealing a keepsake box carved out of cedarwood as his nose caught the unique scent without the silken barrier.

It was sanded smooth with a coating of clear finishing oil, a diamond etched into the top – no.

Not a diamond, it was too wide for the modern shape, more a square turned on point.

It was a rune.

Elder Futhark, Ingwaz to be precise, associated with potential.

Potential for _what_ , however, drew Erik to him?

Gently lifting the lid off of the box with a little jiggle, the wooden lid tight to the body of the container to prevent damage to the contents, he set it aside carefully onto the lounger, noting at once that the interior was lined with the same raw silk as the wrapping had been to protect its contents or any other that Harry chose to keep within it.

Contents that were a bit of a departure from the “traditional” expected sixth-day gift but not in a bad way.

No, Harry would venture that it was to leave him with no doubts about the seriousness Erik was taking his pursuit of Harry, even if he was still questioning the ends he was after.

Plucking out the envelope inside the box, Harry arched a brow at the blood-red stationary that matched the ribbons exactly if he had to guess, finding inside both a note from his vampiric suitor and a gift certificate for a significant amount to the same boutique that Harry patronized for his preferred handmade bath products.  That boutique had been hard to find, a gem in New Orleans that didn’t use anything but natural materials and scents.  He huffed a bit of a laugh.  Nosy vampire.

_If my previous gifts have not made it clear, let me be plain –_

_If you would be mine, I would be yours._

_Yours if You Would Have Me,_

_Erikír the Northman_

“Spies or mind-reading.”  Harry laughed, shaking his head as he tucked the card back away along with the gift certificate.  “I swear.  That vampire either has spies or can actually read my damn mind.”

Stupid, charming, vampire.

Reaching into the box, he pulled out a small apple charm carved from bloodstone that would likely dangle _just so_ from the bracelet Erik gave him yesterday, then a single purple rose blossom.

Temptation (the apple), determination and nobility (bloodstone), enchantment (purple rose), Erik was drawn by his physical appearance, his personality, his power, and adding in the cedarwood box, his strength.

Well, at least he couldn’t say that Erik was being shallow in pursuing him but was flattering as hell.

Harry wasn’t a passing fancy to Erik Northman, he was wanted with what was nothing less than consuming fascination and obsession.

_Very_ flattering from a vampire of Erik’s age, line, and status even before you added in that he really was so hot it should be illegal in seventy-two countries.

Harry supposed that the only question that remained in light of this final gift and the note that accompanied it was: _did_ he want to be Erik’s?

As when he wasn’t drowning himself in denial, it was pretty damn clear he wouldn’t mind having the Viking be _his_.

A question that he had all of about thirty-six hours to figure out the answer to before sundown tomorrow when Erik would be coming for an answer…one way or another, whether Harry took the implied invitation to Fangtasia or hid inside his _why the fuck weren’t they working on Erik fucking Northman_ wards.

Attraction, lust, romance, love.

He groaned, flopping back into his lounger after popping the lid back on the keepsake box and sending it to his bedside table.

Life would be so much easier if he actually gave as little fucks about all of that nonsense as he tried to pretend.

Not that anyone really believed him.

He was 99% certain that Adele had _snorted_ at him when he’d dismissed the very idea of taking a lover – gods was that just a few weeks ago – in her kitchen over lemon squares.

So much for good southern manners.

…

Eventually, he roused himself from his shocked tulmult and made it back inside, checking the clock and doing some quick math before snapping up his cellphone.

Between the time of sunset this time of year in Alexandria and that Toth could rise as much as six hours before sunset so long as he stayed in a light-tight space, he had an international call to make.

Courtship aside – or rather especially with the courtship angle – Erik’s behavior wasn’t adding up to anything he recognized.

It was time to call an expert who wouldn’t feel any loyalty towards Erik in the situation the way that Colin, who was of Erik’s same House even if Harry wasn’t sure of the same line, might.

“Harry?”  The richly accented tones of the ancient vampire were worried.  And with good reason as Harry, generally speaking, tried to abide by unspoken rule of not contacting vampires before dusk, as many humans still didn’t know that the older vampires often rose before that and some were rumored not to require sleep at all.  “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not certain.”  He admitted, leaning back in his overstuffed chair before his unlit fireplace.  “A lot has happened recently, so much that it’s a bit of a struggle to keep my head above water – or at least that’s how it feels.”

“Yes,” Toth laughed, a soft creak coming through the phone speaker as he settled into his office chair, having been working on investments as the pre-dusk hours were devoted to his personal business while post-dusk tended to be given over to the needs of the Kingdom save for time spent with his Mate.  “I think there’s not a vampire around who hasn’t seen your interviews by now unless they’re hermits without television or internet.”

“There’s also a murderer running around Bon Temps killing young women.”  Harry rattled off for him.  “I had an idiot vampire try and glamour me and take my house whose trial basically outed me to the New World vampires.  Sookie’s wedding was at the beginning of the month, Adele’s making plans to turn over the house to her and Alcide – and I wish I could take time away to stay out of that crossfire.  I had to cancel my trip to Alexandria over this SBA business, hire on three assistants two of whom are vampires, oh.”  His tone turned dead-pan.  “And somehow in the middle of all _that_ I have a Viking vampire courting my ass for reasons I haven’t been able to pin down.”

The silence on Toth’s part made Harry worry for a long moment that he’d sent his old friend into downtime in shock when the vampire said:

“The Northman finally noticed you?”  Toth cracked up laughing, nearly able to _hear_ Harry’s pout.  “You’ve only been living a half-hour from him for over a decade!”

“Toth!”  Harry protested.  “I’ve also very-intentionally stayed the fuck away from the New World vampires!  Something I’d still be doing if it weren’t for Compton’s thankfully-now finally-dead ass.”

“Okay, okay.”  Toth settled down, a chuckle or two escaping as he wiped away a mirthful blood-tear from the corner of one eye.  “Northman’s courting you then?  Tell me everything and we’ll see if we can’t work out what his endgame is, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Harry blew out a relieved breath, sinking into his chair in boneless thanks that his old friend was taking his distress seriously – after laughing his ass off anyway the fucker.  “Yeah.  I guess it all started with an idiot named Compton…”

…

“…and then today’s card said that if I would be his, he would be mine.”  Harry finished his rundown, sipping on the apple cider sweetened with honey that he and Adele had taken to putting up every fall, having needed to refresh his throat a few minutes into the retelling of what’d been going on.  Which when he ran it down, was a whole fucking lot.  To the point that he wasn’t surprised – anymore – that the whole Erik thing had taken him off-guard when usually he could smell that kind of interest a mile off and be able to either divert it or avoid it like a plague ship.  “Toth…this is Erik Northman.  And completely out of character.”

Gods…he was _exhausted_.

Sleeping until he had to wake up and deal with Erik seemed like the best idea he’d had in eons.

“Not necessarily.”  Toth told him brow furrowed as he tried to slot in everything Harry had told him of the younger vampire’s behavior with everything he’d heard or knew first-hand about the Viking vampire.  Among them being that of all the vampires turned during that era and of those people, only Eirkír progeny of the Gaul had survived to the modern age.  In everyway that counted, Northman was the last of his people like many other ancients roaming the world found themselves.  Like Harry.  “From what I know about the Northman he lives his unlife fully, no experience unexplored, no challenge untested, no temptation untasted.  When he takes an interest in something it captures him, when he does battle it is with all of him, and when he gives his loyalty it is unfaltering.  It is said that even in a House known for their bonds, the one between Erikír and his Maker are the strongest of them all.  Harry…”  Toth laughed a bit.  “He’s the vampire version of _you_.”

“Except for the slut thing.”  Harry pointed out, letting this head thud back against the seat.  “I avoid entanglements he revels in them.” 

Sex had gotten old after the first century or so, then after awhile he’d dabble with it again outside of self-servicing, then it would get boring again, and so on.  He went through period where he’d have lovers, but they never lasted very long, and he didn’t tend to bed-hop for all his flirting since he’d freed himself from his tether to Albion.

“One-night stands, rather.”  Toth told him.  “Fuck and feeds, other than his Maker and his Progeny, perhaps other single vampires of his House, I’ve never heard of him having an affair with another vampire.”

“Probably because if it goes bad he’d have to deal with that drama for the rest of eternity or until one of them met the true death.”  Harry snorted.  “That’s hardly working in his favor when it comes to me and my point stands: I’ve had affairs but none really in at least a century and definitely not the new-body-every-night trend Erik has wallowed in.”

“You realize Julian is never going to let you live this down after your millennia of avoiding relationships with vampires, right?”  Toth asked drily.

“I haven’t stopped avoiding relationships with vampires.”  Harry countered with a wince.  “I’m just…debating.  And you still haven’t _helped_ me figure out what Erik’s endgame is.”

“He definitely wants you at least as a bonded companion.”  Toth told him, knowing he’d have to be utterly crystal clear or his old friend would wrap himself back up in even more knots.  “Maybe more.”

“More?”  Harry scoffed, brows arched.  “What more _is_ there between a vampire and a human?”

“You forget: you’re not strictly human and Northman knows that.”  A sigh came over the line.  “Vanilla humans don’t live as long as you have without intervention and even with breaking the curse…you’d know better than I, but have you aged at _all_ in the last decade?”

“No.”  It was a bare whisper, hand clenched on the phone, admission that Harry had first rejected, then raged against, moving through all the stages of grief and denial before coming to terms with it just over a year ago.  He didn’t know why he was still immortal.  The magic shouldn’t still be working with the curse broken…but he thought that was rather the problem.

The magic.

Vampires, he’d thought since meeting Julian and Toth centuries ago, lived until they died _because_ they were magic and nothing he’d seen in the years to follow had contradicted that idea of his.

Magic infused every part of their bodies save for the dead cells of their hair, skin, and nails, and even those had dregs of power that lingered for a time after separating from their host.

Magic beings on the other hand – humans, weres, shifters, etc. – used magic by drawing it into themselves, which was why doing V could enhance existing powers, bolster latent powers, or cause other side effects.

Harry had been infusing his body – for lack of any other term – with magic and storing magic within it for fifteen hundred years.

It was entirely possible at this point that his body was as profuse with magical power as a vampire’s…and sharing some of the same benefits that they gained whilst having none of their weaknesses save for beheading and his heart being ruptured by impalement, though prior to his curse being lifted neither of those had worked on him as he’d had cause to find out _vividly so_ in the case of heart-impalement over the ages.

For all the shit he’d started or finished over the years, he’d never been beheaded, even if a few opponents on the battlefield over the years had tried via sword or axe.

Harry hadn’t been a _warrior_ king for nothing.

“Oh Harry.”  Toth clucked his tongue in sympathy even though he was glad that his eyes hadn’t deceived him – or one of his friend’s glamours – and he wouldn’t be losing him to age after all.  “You knew it was a possibility.”

“It wasn’t one I actively liked to think about.”  Harry’s chuckle was a bit dry and bitter before being chased away by a steadying drink of his cider.  “Given that being finally free was more important to me than anything that came after – if there was an after at all.”

“I hope you don’t resent that Julian and I are glad that you won’t be leaving us?”

“No,” Harry huffed a laugh little more than a breath of air.  “No, I can’t resent that.”

“Then, given that Northman is aware of your origins and rightly seems to have reached the assumption that you’re immortal, he might want even more than a bonded.”

“Like what?  For me to be his bippiddy-boppiddy-bridegroom?”

“Why so skeptical?”  Toth tsked, mouthing _bippiddy-boppiddy-bridegroom_ with an eyeroll and determination to repeat it to Julian who would heckle Harry unrelentingly over the turn of phrase.  “You’re a powerful, immortal, beautiful creature.  Any number of vampires could do no better than you as a bonded spouse and many could do much worse.”

“Yeah…”  Harry frowned, staring off into space.  “I suppose I’m getting hung up on most vampires being species-snobs almost as bad as the Fae.”

_Gasp_.

“Mr. Sentient-Beings-Alliance himself voicing species-ist assumptions!”  Toth mocked his new position, knowing better than most that for all Harry was about fair-play he had his own _opinions_ fashioned over centuries of dealing with others…especially when it came to the Fae considering how often they preyed – or attempted to prey – upon Albion.  “For shame!”

“Ass.”  Harry snorted.  “You know I’m right.”

“Oh, no, you’re perfectly correct.”  Toth agreed easily.  “We’re some of the snobbiest bastards out there for not associating with _lesser beings_ but I think you’d be the first to protest that you’re not _lesser_ in anyway to any _one_ , let alone a Viking vampire five centuries your junior.”

“Point.”

“So…why are you so frightened and overthinking the advances of someone who likely _won’t_ _die on you_?  What do you _realistically_ have to lose?”

Silence.

Then something clicked on Toth’s end.

“Harry…”  His voice trailed heavily over his name, burying his face in his hands as he spoke through his hands-free earpiece.  “Have you ever, in all your years, been in a serious relationship?”

“I was married.”  Was the response he got in total deadpan.  “With a daughter.”

“Fifteen hundred years ago and you spent most of your marriage – to a woman chosen to unite your people against your enemies – on a battlefield.  I’m asking about _emotion_ , Gwrtheryn.  Have you ever, in your life, made a serious _emotional commitment_ to another person outside of your family?”

_Crickets._

Again, the silence very much spoke for itself, and explained _so much_ about Harry’s current panic regarding Northman.

Toth pinched his nose, holding in a groan of exasperation over the emotionally-stunted (at least when it came to romance) idiot that had somehow become his best-friend outside of his Mate.

“Alright, clearly I’ve been going at this the wrong way.”  He decided, changing tactics in deference to his clueless friend.  Gods.  What did he do to deserve this?

Oh yes.

He Changed and Mated one archer and trouble-magnet named Julian who subsequently had to be saved from his own recklessness by an immortal sorcerer.

_That_ is what he did that left him here: best-friend and sounding board to an immortal warrior and sorcerer who had some-fucking-how walked through fifteen centuries of life with his heart romantically virginal.

“Harry.”  Toth told him, tone even and unfaltering.  “You have an opportunity to discover what Northman is after.  He has _initiated_ a courtship: but the choice is yours, pointing not to simple obsession with an object or pet but a companion, spouse, or even mate.  The only way you’re going to find out is to take a chance on a new experience.  Of all the options available to you for a partner to walk beside you into eternity there’s realistically only two.”

“Fae or Vampire.”  Harry closed his eyes shaking his head as his friend forced him to think on things he’d wanted to avoid.  Which was why he’d likely – even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it – called Toth in the first place instead of waiting for Julian to awake or speaking to Lala or any of his other friends and/or descendants.  When it came to shoving a mirror in your face there was no one for it like your immortal best-friend.  “Without taking a risk on a curse or another unpredictable magical intervention.”

“Yes.”  His friend confirmed.  “Fae or Vampire and we both know what you think about full-blooded Fae or the idea of having to live in Faerun.”

Harry made a gagging sound then chuckled.  “So, vampire.”

“Vampire.”  Toth grinned fiercely, eyes glinting with satisfaction.  He and his mate had been telling Harry as such for literal centuries.  It seemed like the stubborn creature was finally willing to listen.  “And what do you know?  One who has a decent shot at understanding your background better than any youngling and your fierce independence than most ancients is trying to court you.  Take a shot on him Harry.”  Toth advised.  “If it doesn’t work, Julian will help you make Northman’s unlife hell for a decade or so then lob suitors at your head until you either stake yourself or settle down with one from sheer frustration.”

“Gee.  Thanks.”  Harry snarked.  “That’s _exactly_ what I called you to hear.”

“Truth hurts.”  Toth laughed.  “Now go bag yourself a Viking.  If you don’t like your catch you can always release it later…one way or another.”

….

_Last Time:_

_The interview played almost constantly, being clipped and remastered for news outlets all over the world and YouTube alike._

_By the time the sun rose on Saturday morning, a new narrative had taken over the United States._

_One not about species but about something that meant a lot more to most: money._

_Harry hadn’t just played hardball in his opening salvo against politicians and pundits across the country._

_He’d hit them where it hurt._

_The first death threat arrived before the interview was even completed, let alone the second and third that aired with both ABC and CNN._

_Colin was more than a bit relieved when David finally arrived Saturday night, the two of them speeding over to Harry’s cabin._

_Though he wasn’t expecting his new boss’s reaction to the older vampire from the House of Seth._

_“David?”  Harry blinked, setting aside the tablet he’d been scrolling through as he kept an eye on the chatter over both his interviews and the SBA.  “You’re dead.”_

_David Callahan, vampire turned in 1613 and a descendent of one Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii, gave a fangy grin at his alive-and-well ancestor._

_“Undead.”  He corrected, even as Harry leapt to his feet and glomped him, the strength in that body nearly making him wobble._

_“It looks good on you.”  Harry told him laughingly, cradling that beloved face with fierce blue eyes._

_“Considering I thought you were dead before that interview last night…”  David arched and unimpressed brow.  “Same.”_

_“C’mon inside.”  Harry snatched up his tablet and ushered both vampires inside, quite glad for the distraction as he’d been struggling to not obsess over Erik’s final courting gift all day – and what he was going to say or do in response tomorrow when his time was up.  “I think you have a story to tell me.”_

_“Not much to it.”  David shrugged.  “Died on the battlefield, was found and turned by Ramsay and been a vampire ever since.  Somehow since I can see your tan is just as rich as ever and you have a heartbeat I don’t think your own secret is as simple.”_

_“Meh.”  Harry shrugged.  “Depends on your point of view.”_

_“Tell it anyway.”_

**Now:**

Harry passed the goblets of bloodwine over to his guards – a vampire he’d saved from death thanks to a worthless maker and one that wouldn’t exist if not for Harry for a more direct reason, being blood of his blood.

“What about that story, Harry, right?”  David asked, arching a brow.  Some immortals changed their names with the times, his ancestor was clearly one of them, but others like himself had never felt the need as they had names that were both common enough to avoid scrutiny and rather unchanging over the ages.  “Not Wymond?”

“You know.”  Harry laughed, shaking his head as he sank down into his arm chair across from his descendant, Colin taking up post at the wide windows to watch the shadows in the forest – just in case.  “You’re the second person I’ve met in the last week that knew me during that period?”

“That so?”  David blinked, trying to remember who all were from the Tudor era that were both still alive or undead and in the States.  “Who?”

“The Magister of North America.”  Harry snorted.  “Father Jorge Alonso de San Diego, former interrogator for the Inquisition turned vampire.”  He snickered.  “I tried to sink his ship once, he outed me to the tribunal gathered to judge Bill Compton, Nan Flanagan, and Sophie-Anne LeClerq with her Saxon cunt guards.”

“Ouch.”  David played like he was wounded.  “I resemble that remark.”

“The hell you do.”  Harry scowled.  “My line may have intermarried with various tribes and peoples, but you all stayed well-the-fuck-away from the original Saxon-cunt invaders.  I have no issue with the eventual Anglo-Saxon people…just the original arseholes that raped and pillaged and murdered their way across our homeland.”

“I guess you’d know.”  David shrugged.

“I would.”  Harry nodded.  “Given that the death-curse I used to be trapped under had me keeping an eye on my bloodline but never able to truly intervene.  I could whisper, I could maneuver, but I couldn’t take direct action to protect any of you.”

“I survived…until I didn’t.”  David cocked a grin at his forebearer.  “Now here we are, back together, and if you’re here I’m guessing there’s more family about, yeah?”

“Yes.”  Harry scowled, nibbling at his bottom lip.  “But with you being a vampire…that creates a bit of a problem.”

“Why?  Are they prejudiced?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Harry waved that off.  “I have them warded to the heavens against all the more predatory species.  Our family is magical again now that I’ve broken the curse on my bloodline, and my youngest – and I suppose yours as well – descendants are both magical and have a bit of _other_ that would make them particularly tasty to fang-having species.”

David mulled that over for a minute, quickly coming to the right conclusion: “Part-Fae?”

“Oh yeah.”  Colin piped up with a grin.  “It’s frustrating as all hell.  You can smell the scent, just the faintest hint of intoxicating sunshine on the air, but you can’t track it or find who it’s coming from.”  He winked at Harry.  “Methuselah here did a bang-up job on them.”

“Good to know.”  Harry said thoughtfully.  “I’ve never had an active vampire presence to test the wards against.  I wasn’t expecting you to be able to pick up the lingering notes but that might just be the line you belong to and not necessarily a sign others would notice.”  He narrowed his eyes, thinking.  “But…I don’t know any vampires either not of the House of Seth or old as shit.  Not the best litmus test.”

“Experiments later, answers now.”  David nudged him lightly, amused by memories of having to do the same back when Harry was his tutor and would go off on tangents.  “Can you fix it?”

“Maybe.”  Harry thought, brow furrowed.  “I might be able to link-in specific vampires to the wards but I’ll need to run a test case on someone not nearly as, ah, _tempting_ as the kids before I try it with them.”  He perked up.  “Fortunately we have a vanilla human descendent as well, doesn’t practice magic but accepts it, who won’t mind meeting a vampire or two for a good cause.”

“When exactly are you planning on working on _that_ project, Harry?”  Colin asked with an eye roll.  “I mean, David will help with the SBA workload and the vampires brought over from the AVL will listen to him a lot better than me as far as the lobbying and advocacy they do around the country, but you still have a lot going on right now, plus the Northman thing.”

He jerked his head towards the line of vases, most of them new additions since last time he was inside Harry’s home.

“What Northman thing?”  David arched a brow then laughed as his former-tutor and friend turned his head pointedly away.  “Harry…”  He drawled.  “Are you involved with my Maker’s ancestor?”

“Northman is Ramsay’s ancestor?”  Colin wrinkled his nose.  “Is no one in the House of Seth not interrelated somehow?”

“Bloodlines.”  Harry answered the unasked question, actually knowing how that can happen.  “Some traits make for a more successful vampire post-change than others, some traits are genetic, ergo you’ll have more than one person turned from the same bloodline if Makers obey the Pull instead of changing baby-vamps willy-nilly.”

“And there’s three of them, the only ones related that way as far as I’m aware.”  David took on the actual question.  “Northman is a descendent of Madh and Ramsay from Northman.”

“Wait, wait.”  Colin did a quick mental review of Zenobia’s line of the House of Seth.  “You mean to tell me that Madh’s human children eventually led to Erik whose human children led to Ramsay who was turned by Madh?”  He winced.  “I think I have a headache.”

“At least Ramsay wasn’t Madh’s mate.”  Harry smirked, pleased that they’d been diverted from why they were discussing Erik Northman in the first place.  “Then it would be _really_ a mental cringe.”

“Considering that there’s something like eleven hundred years between Madh and Ramsay, not so much.”  David snorted, entertained by the idea nonetheless.  His Maker and his Grand-Maker as Mates…yowch.  _That_ would not have gone well at all.  Tomoe is much more Ramsay’s speed than Madh.  More blood less politics.  “And nice try on changing the subject.  What’s going on with you and Northman, _ancestor of mine?”_

“Not as much as Northman would like.”  Colin muttered, then sped from the cabin.  He actually liked Harry and owed him a lot.

He also believed whole-heartedly that he deserved a lot better than Erik Northman if he was going to get involved with a vampire, even if ones old enough to be willing to brave an ancient sorcerer for a companion were thin on the ground.

Too bad his second Maker wasn’t in the Area.

He’d be a _much_ better match for Harry as far as Colin could tell.

“Okay…”  David raised his brows then jerked his head towards the door of the cabin that was just swinging closed after the youngling.  “What was _that_ about?”

“Colin has his reasons not to be a fan of the Fangtasia set.”  Was all Harry was willing to divulge.  “Otherise it’s not my story to tell.”

“Are you actually going to tell me your story, including Northman’s involvement, or leave me guessing?”

“Better settle in.”  Harry sighed, not happy to be going over this twice in one day.  Three times if one counted Julian’s phone call after he’d risen that woke Harry up from his nap to gossip over Erik’s courtship.  “This is going to take a while, likely to dawn, and tomorrow night I don’t know that I’ll be able to get into it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to tell a Viking that I’m open to a courtship tomorrow.”  Harry sucked in a steadying breath.  “And I still have no fucking clue how I’m going to go about it or what’s going to happen afterward.”

…

_Flowers used and their Meanings:_

Enchanter’s Nightshade: Fascination, sorcery, witchcraft

Comet’s Orchid: Royalty

Calla Lilly: Magnificent Beauty

Purple Pansy: You Occupy My Thoughts

White Dittany of Crete: Passion

Yellow Ox Eye Daisy: Patience

Snowdrop: Hope

Iris: I have a message for you.

Purple Rose: Enchantment

 

_Woods used and their Meanings:_

Apple: Temptation

Cedar: Strength

 

_Stone Used and its Meaning:_

Bloodstone: Determination, nobility

 

_Rune Used and its Meaning:_

Elder Futhark: Ingwaz – Potential

…

Translations: _Godnatt_ – goodnight; _snygging_ – sexy/hot-stuff/beautiful; _mitt_ – my; _hjärta –_ heart; _älskling –_ darling/beloved.

 


	17. Untimely Interruptions

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Sixteen: Untimely Interruptions**

When Jesús took Lafayette Reynolds up on his offer to help him get properly outfitted for his job as Harry Black’s assistant that Sunday morning, he was expecting a day filled with flirty comments, lingering hands, and having to veto more than one outfit.

And there were all those too.

But what stuck out the most to him and confirmed something he’d noticed during his first week on the job, was how dead-serious Lafayette took the charge of helping Jesús present himself in a way that reflected well on Harry and Harry’s many responsibilities, to the point of marching them right out of a boutique when a salesperson had made a snide comment about them being a couple because while he could see on his own account Lafayette didn’t really give a shit, he _did_ care on Harry’s account and wasn’t going to spend Harry’s money and give them a commission when they behaved in a way that wouldn’t reflect well on Harry.

Loyal.

Lafayette, Hoyt, Sam, and others who had no reason to be loyal to Harry because of blood like Jason or being magical like Jesús and Holly, were just as loyal if not even more so than anyone else in Bon Temps.

Jesús being a curious creature but patient with it, suggested dinner to his companion, Lafayette turning his black Mercedes – having picked up Jesús in Shreveport on the way into New Orleans – towards a restaurant he liked, the two of them dining on possibly the best jambalaya he’d had in his life and bided his time until Lafayette – who’d finally given him permission to call him Lala – pulled up to the curb outside his place and turned off the engine of the luxury car, turning to smile gently at him with warm brown eyes.

“There ya are, _Papí_.”  Lala teased.  “One wardrobe selected and purchased on Harry’s dime.  You’ll be lookin’ _fine_ in some-a those suits.  Bossman’ll be real happy wit you.”

Jesús loved that Lala was an educated man but still chose to talk with his homegrown accent, it made nearly everything that tripped off his tongue sound just a little bit filthy even if all he was discussing was the merits of slate versus charcoal gray.

“Can I ask you a question, Lala?”  Jesús smiled.

“Jus’ did but…”  Lala winked.  “Shoot.”

“Why were you willing to give up your Sunday to help me?”  He asked.  “If you wanted to go out with me you didn’t have to do that.  Dinner would’ve been more than enough on its own.”

“Oh, boyfriend.”  Lafayette laughed, shaking his head.  “That’s a…bit of a complicated question.  You sure you want the answer?”

“Positive.”

“Alright then.”  Lala shifted, turning to face him in the driver’s seat, Jesús mirroring the movement so they could see each other clearly.  “A bit of backstory then.  You know Harry’s…more?”

“He’s not the only one.”  Jesús grinned.  “That’s why I got this job.”  He leaned in to confide.  “I know who he is, at least part of him anyway.”

“Part.”  Lala nodded.  “That’s about right.  He’s a complicated one, is Harry Black.  But me?”  He shrugged.  “Bein’ a gay, black, southern man ain’t ever been a picnic.  But I was Bon Temps’ gay black man so’s it coulda been worse wit mah crazy mama an’ the rednecks ‘round here.”  Lala rolled his eyes with a snort.  “Coulda been _a lot worse_.  Coulda had a mean-ass drunk for a mama instead.  Coulda been shit at baseball instead-a All Parish in high school which saved my luscious booty from gettin’ bashed more’n once along with Jason Stackhouse’s loyal ass keepin’ idiots from jumpin’ me or jumpin’ in when they did.  But Harry?”  He arched a perfectly plucked brow at Jesús.  “Boyfriend, Sugah Daddy saved mah damn _life_.”

He locked eyes on calm brown, serious as a heart attack.

“Sittin’ me and mah stubborn-ass cousin’s sassy behinds down at the Stackhouse table for lessons on _real_ shit instead-a public school bullshit.  Same cloth, different cut are Harry and Ms. Adele.  She fed our stomachs an’ our hearts when Tara’s mama was on a bender or mah mama was too busy talkin’ shit to folks ain’t no one else can see.  They as good as _gold_.”  Lala chuckled, remembering more than one when he or Tara or Jason tested Harry’s patience.  Rarely Sookie.  That girl was so damn happy not to hear voices all the damn time she sat nice and pretty at the kitchen table and soaked it all in.

“Harry’s the one who figured out Ruby Jean wasn’t just cray-cray but was an actual medium.  Too late for her to be anythin’ close to normal but,” he lifted his necklace, showing the medallion hanging from it.  “Not for me.  Sugah Daddy saved mah life.”  He repeated his earlier assertion.  “That man could ask me to move a body or kill some folk an’ I’d say when an’ where.”  Lala laughed.  “Helpin’ a pretty man with a brain in his head an’ magic in his veins look his best ain’t that big of a hardship and it’s not like I didn’t enjoy lookin’ at you all day.  Harry changed a lot of lives ‘round here, _Papí._   You could do plenty worse than him as a bossman any day of the week an’ that’s for certain.”

“So,” Jesús changed the subject with a grin.  “If a pretty man wanted to ask you out for dinner this week…”

“I’d say wear the purple shirt we bought, and I’ll text you when I’ll pick you up.”  Lala told him.

“Good to know.”  Jesús nodded, then darted forward and wrapped one hand around the back of Lafayette’s head, dragging him forward into a brief-but-fierce kiss.  “Text me.”

“Oh, you can count on that, _Papí._ ”  Lala’s smile was hot and slow like chocolate ganache over a truffle for finishing as a wickedly-grinning Jesús climbed from the Benz and snagged his bags from the backseat, what didn’t need tailoring and picked up later.  “You can put _bank_ on it.”

…

In the end, Harry decided that he’d never let fear or uncertainty dictate his life in over fifteen hundred years and he wasn’t about to start now.

Another part of him was bemused.

Fifteen hundred years and he could still be surprised.

Still have new experiences.

It gave him hope for the interminable future that stretched out before him in a parade of endless days.

Hope that it might not be such a pointlessly repetitive future after all.

That he might have _more_ than he’d known before.

More than watching as his descendants died and he remained, as the world changed and he found himself forced to either change with it or fade away into obscurity.

The world changed and he remained.

Though now…perhaps not alone.

Hope was a funny thing: self-spawning even in the darkest of hours.

It seemed the hope he’d given Erik had taken root inside Harry and freed to seek the sun – or perhaps the moon was more appropriate given the situation – under the constant reminders from the Viking and the sensible advice from his oldest friend.

That said, he didn’t have to make it _easy_ on the vampire.

He’d come to Erik thrice.

It was his turn.

And no, festooning his home with various florals didn’t count given that Harry never saw him at it.

With that in mind, Harry set to work with magic…after a bit of sentimentality.

Going to each of the flowers Erik had sent him that week, he plucked two petals from each – one for his magic to work with and the other for sentiment – including taking clippings of the foliage from the mini-pineapple and the mistletoe.  A spell fashioned a small drawstring bag from some of the raw silk Erik had wrapped his final gift in along with one of the blood-red ribbons.  One set of petals went into the bag and was hit with a preservation charm before being tucked away in the keepsake box Erik made for him, Harry gaining an imprint of sorts on Erik’s aura from the gifts he’d handled or crafted himself, most particularly the bracelet now on his wrist, the keepsake box, and the raw silk and ribbon wrapping.

Effort always told in the end.

Creatures of magic had no idea how much of themselves they could leave behind for a sorcerer like Harry to find.

Good thing there was only _one_ sorcerer like Harry running about, and for the most part he didn’t given enough of a shit about most people to bother with lifting aura imprints to track them.

With the ticket he wouldn’t be using – that would make things _far_ too easy on Erik – he texted Lala to see if the man wanted it, to no surprise he did, though whether he actually needed a ticket himself, wanted an extra, or was going to sell it was no concern to Harry.

He had other plans for the night than watching a vampire rockstar prancing around on stage at Fangtasia.

Plans that likewise didn’t include snoopy vampire guards – descendent or not – which another text took care of, the boys getting the night off from Harry-sitting duty, which reminded them that he needed to figure out a schedule for them so they each have nights off.

Taking the second set of petals and clippings, Harry tossed them in a wooden bowl then made a small cut at the base of his thumb, watching the blood drip down onto the petals until they were coated before healing himself.  Strictly speaking he didn’t need the blood.  But it was the surest and easiest conduit for his power, especially when he wanted an enchantment or transformation to last.

And in this case: he wanted both.

He could do magic through sheer want and will.

He did it all the time.

But sometimes there was nothing quite like doing things the _olde_ way and given that he was conjuring an answer to a Viking vampire’s courtship request he rather thought the _olde way_ applied.

Erik wasn’t the only one who knew his traditions and symbolic meanings after all.

And thanks to him so _thoughtfully_ providing the Council Mage with his aura imprint, Harry didn’t need anything more than his magic to best Erik’s minor invasions of his territory.

Especially since once Harry’s answer was done, he was going to send it directly to Erik whether he was dead for the day or having awoken early this night and the Viking had never made it passed his front door…any of them.

A bit showy, perhaps.

But if Erik was going to pursue a sorcerer of Harry’s caliber, a showy warning was in order.

Because if he screwed him over, there’d be no need to wait for Julian’s assistance.

He’d burn the bastard down himself and dance in the ashes.

…

Erik had been awake and pacing for an hour, waiting anxiously for the sun to set so he could go to Fangtasia – a first – and cursing himself for not spending the day there when he felt a strange whisper in the air, almost like a lock of hair brushing against his bare skin, before the feeling solidified and clasped around his wrist.

It was warm but not searing, like a palm taking hold of his arm, and when he jerked his arm up to eye-level with his full speed it was to the shocking sight of a bracelet that he most definitely didn’t put there when he rose for the night.

Erik only knew one sorcerer with that kind of magic, though he had no idea how his _älskling_ managed it without blood or hair or something from Erik.

He didn’t know it was possible.

But then Harry seemed to revel – constantly – in doing things or even just _being a thing_ that wasn’t supposed to be possible.

His new bracelet – and wordless answer to Erik’s courtship request, he’d thought his future mate would register what he was doing – was simply the newest impossible thing Harry made possible.

And like his mild invasion of Erik’s space, it also one-upped Erik’s own courting gifts.

A grin split Erik’s face.

Oh yes, he was going to enjoy being mated to Harry when the time came.

At the very least he would never be bored and to an immortal that was worth more than any number of gold, jewels, or pretty baubles.

Harry hadn’t out-done him completely, the bracelet was similar fine leather cording to that Erik braided for Harry’s wooden and bloodstone bracelet, but where Erik’s was made with his hands from wood and a semi-precious stone, Harry’s was precious and semi-precious stones fashioned by magic in the shape of flowers, both the stones and the shape they took having meanings of their own.

Fashioned from a ruby for passion and vitality the size of a fifty-cent piece was an exquisitely detailed red carnation, a simple flower with a simple meaning made out of a not-so-simple gem.

_Yes._

Harry was going to let Erik court him, though the rest of the message was less straightforward and encouraging.

That was just fine.

Erik loved a challenge, it made him feel alive like nothing else, especially from a creature as gorgeous as his _framtida kompis._

Chaining ruby red carnation to a Jacob’s Ladder blossom (that one he had to admit required a quick Google search) carved from Alexandrite, the stone for seeing possibilities and the flower meaning come down to me – Harry wasn’t going to the concert, Erik would have to see him on his territory – were a dozen plum blossoms fashioned of rose quartz: keep your promise, I’m learning to trust again.

Good thing he’d already gone cold-turkey on fangbangers.

He didn’t want to know what a sorcerer who could teleport objects with enough accuracy to place them around his wrist would do to him if he strayed.

Likely some very unpleasant things including teleportation of Erik’s favorite body parts into a volcano.

If not Erik himself.

Erik had a shot with his mate, but only one, and if he blew it…it would cost him not just his mate but might even send him to his true death.

Fair enough.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what kind of creature he was courting.

As it was – he’d only recognized him with his glamours down after destroying three vampires at whim.

He could think of no better match.

Fortunately, fate seemed to agree with him.

Now if only the sun would set.

But in the meantime, instructions were sent out to Pamela, Thalia, and Longshadow.

They’d have to manage the club and concert alone tonight.

He had a mate to woo.

Speaking of which…he brought Google back up.

Part one of his campaign was complete.

Time for more research into phase two.

…

Harry paced through his expanded closet, hands dragging slowly over silk and linen, leather and superfine wool alike, eyes flicking over the massive jewelry chest that took up the entire back wall and the custom boots and shoes and sandals filling cubbies along another only giving way to belts and bags in the last few feet near the door.  Recessed lighting shone down from the ceiling and richly piled carpet whispered under his feet, the single room in his domain that he’d allowed the modern floor covering to hold sway.  And even that had only been after he’d found a supplier that made wall-to-wall out of spun lambswool.

The sun would set soon.

His response to Erik already in place on the Viking’s wrist.

And Harry was still debating what side of himself to show the suitor this night.

Erik had seen him relaxed in the finery of a wedding guest, flaunting his status as the Envoy in various states of leather and silk, linen and cotton and gold.

Perhaps…his hands lingered on his favorite pair of time and washing softened cut-off jeans.

Perhaps it was time that Erik saw the man that lingered under the modern armor.

The one that spent half his daylight hours basking in the sun on his dock or swimming beneath the surface of lakes and rivers and sea waves.

If anything, Erik’s gift from yesterday proved that the vampire had been paying close attention to what Harry had shown the public in Erik’s vicinity.

Royalty and sorcery, strength and passion, those were all well and good, but Erik had seen almost nothing of Harry being _himself_ rather than the Council Mage or his masquerade as the Mage’s Envoy.

Yes, he decided with a wicked grin as he snagged the old cut-off jeans with their button-fly and ragged hem.

If Erik was going to court him, he should know what he was getting.

Harry pared down to base components, no window dressing, no weapons, no flash.

Just himself.

Stepping into the cut-off, he did up two of the three buttons leaving the last open, only dressed as much as needed to keep him from showing Erik _all_ of him and tapped his golden torc to reveal it to sight, a comforting weight he only noted when it _wasn’t_ there the rare times he removed it to clean and polish it by hand rather than use a spell.

Turning to his jewel chest, Harry opened up the single drawer that held his bracelets and removed the handcrafted gift from the Viking in wood and leather and bloodstone, ignoring the gleams of gold and silver and platinum.

He didn’t often wear bracelets, a hold over from centuries wearing armor on his forearms, leading to only the single drawer in the chest that was larger than he was and just as tall filled with rings and necklaces, his favorite loose stones he hadn’t yet had set, and a few unique pieces that he rarely wore but liked to have close such as the circlet Toth had gifted him with centuries ago that had a red diamond the size of his thumb which would dangle down between his brows when worn.

His vault in London specifically for jewelry was as large as his cabin and filled with other jewels and gems and baubles that he didn’t bother with most of the time, other than when he wanted to dip into the contents to have a jewel reset or to gift an antique to his descendants such as the necklaces he’d given Sookie and Adele.

Opening other drawers, he stripped off his rings and set them in their places, leaving himself bare of adornment besides his torc which was as much a part of him as his tattoos and magic, then locked it with a spell before moving through his home, magic flowing out from him to leave it clean enough to sparkle, his bed freshly made with crisp sheets and blankets, the towels in his bathroom fluffing, and hand-knotted rug before the fire snapping clear of any dust it’d accumulated so that the blue and green silk pattern with cream and gold shone under the light from dozens of creamy beeswax candles that sprang into flame in the waning light of day.

The flower arrangements sent by his soon-to-be visitor spun through the air and took up position around the open concept cabin instead of lined up on his kitchen bar and the cedar keepsake box straightened on his bedside table.

Turning in a circle, wearing nothing himself but old cut-offs and the gleam of gold at his throat, tattoos in dark brown and black shadowing his skin, Harry blew out a breath as he felt more than noted the sun begin to lower upon the horizon as he left his cabin open and padded out to face the lake, resting his hands softly on the porch rail as Erik’s mistletoe garland swaying in the gentle summer evening breeze.

And he waited.

Though not for long.

Bare minutes after taking up position waiting at the rail, he caught the sound of something passing through the air at a high speed and felt a smirk curve at his mouth as he closed his eyes, holding in a laugh.

Of _course_ Erik was from a line with advanced gifts.

It certainly explained some of the clearly-earned arrogance and control the Viking exhibited around humans and other vampires alike except when facing someone with the power to cause his true death such as the Magister, though even that was rote respect for the position and not given the vampire that held it.

At the sound of landing on the grass behind him near the drive and the garage positioned between Cypress Grove and the cabin that held his collection of vehicles, Harry spoke.

“It occurred to me this evening, after interpreting your gifts and reviewing the times you’ve seen me – few that they are – that you’ve come to expect a certain persona from me.”  Harry didn’t turn away from watching the light from the stars and the rising moon on the placid lake surface, even as long pale muscled arms boxed him in and a body radiating strength paused just an inch or so from pressing its cool surface against his warm bared back.  “If _he’s_ who you’re courting then I hate to burst your bubble but _that_ version of me, while a part of me, is the least of me put on for performances as required and then tucked back away.”

“That’s the survival tactic of an immortal.”  Erik told him in his deep voice tinged with his native Sweden.  “You are no different than any other immortal: vampire, Fae, or other in this way.”  He leaned down, breath necessary only to speak whispering at the shell of a bronzed ear revealed by waves tamed and tucked back.  “I see you, Harry Black.  Beyond the Council Mage mask.  I see you and _you_ are who I wish to court not a title, just as I would wish you to accept the courtship of Erikír not the Sheriff of Area 5 or a vampire of the House of Seth.”

“And what is it you see, _Erikír_.”  Harry let his true accented English, only the latest in a long line of languages he’s learned in his life, purr out over the name.  “And what is it you want with what you see?”

“I see a King.”  Erik told him, dragging one elegant finger along the arc of the skin-warmed torc.  “And a hunter.”  His hands lifted and pressed Harry’s eyes closed before echoing the path of the paint of a hunter once used to shadow his eyes turned tattoo upon reaching his manhood.  “A sorcerer of the Cornovii,” Erik cupped his tattooed shoulder in one hand.  “And of the Caledonii,” his other hand cupped his hip where a rarely-seen tattoo of a handprint with a triquetra resided.  “A Prince.”  The hand on his hip lifted to brush the band circling his right bicep.  “And a traveler.”  Reaching down he touched his fingertips to the Hawaiian traditional tattoo around Harry’s left thigh.  “A human with a beating heart.”  Erik pressed his lips softly to the throbbing vein in Harry’s strong neck, breathing in the intoxicating bouquet of power and storm-tossed sea that rose from his skin.  “Who somehow has defeated the passage of time.  I _see you_ , Gwrtheryn.  Who you are is written in the marks on your skin, the sword-handling calluses on your hands, and the bone-growth bump on your dominant hand from pressing a writing implement into your finger.  A scholar or chronicler of some kind.  You care for the humans in this backwoods town for a reason I haven’t yet managed to discover and do as little of the work of being the Council Mage as you can to the point of hiring extra envoys and skipping all but the required conclave every year.  Lazy, I would guess, rather than apathetic given that you allowed Roman to manipulate you into taking up cleaning up Nan’s fuck-up.”

“How do you know I let him manipulate me?”  Harry asked, voice nearly breaking as he struggled to control the effect Erik’s hands on him – let alone his damn _mouth_ – though he knew as he felt a soundless chuckle shake Erik’s chest that he at least partially failed.  Vampire senses against a human wasn’t good odds in his favor, even if he controlled his voice and blush his damn heartbeat or pheromones would give him away every time without the safety net of the glamour spells he’d stripped away for this.

“No, you let him.”  Erik told him, dead-certain that Roman wouldn’t have been able to con a sorcerer of Harry’s caliber.  “Or arranged things so by him manipulating you, he was doing what you wanted all along.  Vampires are good at getting our own way but I find it impossible to believe that a sorcerer of your, ah, _gravitas_ doesn’t have safeguards against us woven into the very walls of your formal residence.”

Huh.  Harry took that in.  Maybe Erik _did_ have some idea of what he was dealing with after all.  Even if it didn’t answer _what_ he wanted from him.

Erik crossed that miniscule divide he’d allowed between them, pressing up against his future lover and savoring the sensation as he ducked his head back down the few inches required to whisper into his ear.

“As for what I want from you,” Erik nuzzled him gently.  “I thought I’ve been rather clear about that.  I want all of you.  Every last facet, mask, and lazy piece of you in exchange for every last facet, mask, and arrogant piece of me.”

He nipped lightly at the shell of his mate’s ear, fangs still away and not drawing blood, just a light reminder of who Harry had pressed into every inch of him.

“You would marry me.”

“I would take you anyway I can have you.”  Erik corrected him, moving from nibbling at his ear to pressing hot kisses along his jaw as Harry gave – just a bit – from his unyielding stance that hadn’t so much as twitched once since Erik came up behind him, allowing his head to fall a bit to the side in a testing, if ostensibly submissive, motion.  “Companion, bonded, husband, words are wind, action is what matters.”

“Fidelity.”  Harry spun in Erik’s embrace, a motion down with a speed that made it nearly invisible even to Erik’s advanced sight.  Almost, but not quite, the speed of a vampire.  “I am dead serious in this matter, _Erikír_ of the Geats.”  He pressed one hand warningly to Erik’s breastbone as the other tapped the bracelet on Erik’s wrist.  “The moment I sense another on you is the moment I _end_ you no matter what role I decide to take in your life.”

“In that case,” Erik wrapped an arm vampire-quick around Harry’s trim waist and tugged, sending him crashing against Erik’s t-shirt clad chest.  “I vote for bonded companion and husband.”

If only because Pythia had warned him – _fucking again_ – against claiming Harry as his mate.

Infuriating, meddling, old biddy.

Arching a brow, Harry considered it and though there was a whole lot more they’d need to hash out before he gave in, he let the fire that had been flaming out of control since Erik boxed him in at the rail roar, twining his hand in the baby-fine hair at the back of Erik’s neck – noting absently that he, and his libido, approved of the haircut the Viking had had since last they saw each other – and tugged that smirking mouth down to meet his own.

Kissing Erik was like finding religion: all rushing sensation and pressing heat and homecoming, mixed and driving Harry into a state of being he hadn’t felt in years.

Harry may have started it, but Erik didn’t let that stop him from taking control, his leg wedging between Harry’s own and pressing him back into the porch rail, teeth nipping and tongue twining, the Viking proving that whatever natural talent he may have had in this area it had been practiced and polished into a weapon of sensibility-destruction as one massive hand echoed Harry’s own hold cupping the back of his head and long fingers tangling in sun-streaked waves.

They broke apart only when the burning in Harry’s lungs reminded him of the need for air, mouth open and slick and panting as Erik’s facile mouth danced over his jaw and down the bulge of his windpipe as a tug that pulled a whimper from his lover forced his neck to arch to meet him.

…

Erik’s mind and instincts were on fire, threatening to burn him alive as Harry’s heat pressed against him and harsh, guttural groans and panting little whimpers alike sounded in his ears.

Stealing a taste of Harry’s pulse at the hollow of his throat, Erik’s fangs dropped with a _click_ as he finally lost control over them at the taste of his skin and heated blood just underneath, though he managed to restrain himself to just a single pass of the back of the sensitive appendages before Harry dragged him back into another kiss, taking care to navigate around the razor-sharp points with his tongue.

He was giving strong consideration to snatching Harry up into his arms and over to the dock lounger that he knew as his mate’s favorite – though he wasn’t certain if it would support them both or not – when the option was taking away.

Not by Harry breaking away to invite him into his home, no.

Nothing like that.

But by a growl, a curse in a language Erik didn’t know, and the suddenly-empty cradle of his arms as Harry snarled and teleported away.

Though not too far as Erik heard what had clearly gotten his lover’s attention: shouts from nearby and the soft, almost silent, _pop_ of Harry’s end-result teleportation.

Growling to echo his lover, Erik slammed one fist against his leg in frustration, knowing better than to take out his anger at being cock-blocked on Harry’s home, then sped with all-speed over to where the shouts and pop had come from.

This had _better_ be important or he was going to teach some idiot why it didn’t pay to get between a Viking and their beloved.

…

…

Symbolism for this Chapter:

_Red Carnation – Yes._

_Plum Tree – Keep your promise._

_Jacob’s Ladder – Come down to me._

_Ruby – Passion and Vitality_

_Rose Quartz – Learning to trust again._

_Alexandrite – Seeing possibilities._

_…_

Translations: _Godnatt_ – goodnight; _snygging_ – beautiful/hot-stuff/sexy; _mitt_ – my; _hjärta –_ heart; _älskling –_ darling/beloved; _framtida kompis_ – future mate.


	18. A Trap Sprung

** Blood Sex Magic **

** **

**Chapter Seventeen: A Trap Sprung**

Harry was fucking _livid_.

There he was, throwing in the metaphorical towel and letting fate or destiny or whatever-the-fuck have its way.

If a vampire that wanted Harry was what destiny had in mind for him, sure, he’d decided.  He’d give it a shot.  That giving it a shot had led to him pinned between said vampire and his porch rail, rediscovering sensations he hadn’t felt in longer than he cared to think – _had he ever felt like this before? Ever? –_ while Erik kissed the breath from him was beside the point.

What mattered was that Harry had listened to both himself and his friend and was exploring this new opportunity that had been dropped in his lap.

And then fate – or rather, an idiotic madman – had cock-blocked him cold with a sharp stab of warning from the protections he’d set around Adele and the Stackhouse place.

Fucking _fantastic_ timing.

Fate was a bitch and Harry’s her favorite chew toy.

Especially since as he _had_ been pinned by a vampire who definitely had him beat in strength, a situation which left him few options for a quick escape to help Adele.

In fact, without wasting time arguing with Erik, he pretty much had two: blasting him away or teleporting out of his arms.

Wanting to limit destruction both to his vampire and his home even though it meant outing one of his rarer powers, he’d teleported and given his advanced sense of hearing he could almost _hear_ the growling snarl Erik had let out in response.

That bit of fancy aside, he _could_ hear Erik tearing through the trees towards him, drawn no doubt by the shouts Harry had heard as he came to the terminus of his _pop_ to Adele’s side, bringing him to the Stackhouse front yard just in time to block a frantic wave of a knife from an obviously enraged Rene Lanier.

He had to give it to him – Rene was cunning even if his timing was bad for Harry’s chances of getting laid tonight.

Adele attended both the morning and evening services at the Bon Temps Baptist Church, the sweet woman an inveterate gossip, while Sookie and Alcide had a standing Sunday-dinner with his sister, the Stackhouse clan gathering for Sunday lunch in between the services Adele attended, giving Rene the best shot he’d get all week at striking at Harry’s most vulnerable weakness with the lowest risk of getting caught…especially since Harry had _happened_ to mention the concert ticket he’d received from Erik at Merlotte’s last night when he’d met up with his pack to keep them appraised of the situation.

Harry _should_ have been at Fangtasia by now.

More fool Rene that he didn’t check first, as he hadn’t exactly been hiding what he was up to with Erik out on his porch.

Or perhaps he had and the sight of Harry speaking and necking with a vampire had been the impetus behind his attack on Adele.

Either way, he was going to wish he hadn’t struck at Harry’s family, let alone brought his particular blend of madness to Harry’s territory at all.

And that was before the pissed-off vampire speeding their way got his hands on him.

Tossing Rene back with a solid kick to his stomach, Harry snapped out: “Get her inside,” to the vampire breaking through the trees at high speed, Rene wheezing from Harry’s kick, coming up on his hands and knees with a cough before Harry’s hand fisted in his hair and dragged him up the rest of the way to his feet, forcing his head back to meet Harry’s gaze.

Rene tried another punch with the hand that had lost the knife on the ground, only for Harry to wrap the arm and lock it with his own, a sudden heave from a supernaturally-powered body breaking the mortal’s bone at the elbow with a vicious _snap!_ That rang through the yard.  Behind him Harry heard the sound of Adele being picked up and taken over to her front door, a quiet word from Erik having her rushing inside to phone the police.

“Human law enforcement will be here soon, lover.”  Erik told him as he sped to his side, eyeing the mortal he held trapped with both hand and gaze.  “To take this miscreant off your hands.”

Harry hummed, gaze not breaking from its hold on Rene’s murky brown eyes, then he said: “It seems my trap caught the weasel I’ve been after, after all.”

“This one’s your killer?”  Erik arched a brow, trailing his unimpressed gaze over the uselessly-dangling arm his vicious beloved had snapped, the wiry form and unkempt scruff of facial hair the same dirt brown as his eyes.  It was the eyes that convinced him beyond Harry’s word.  Even locked as they were on Harry’s – some spell going on he would think – they were flat, empty like some of the more mindlessly violent newborn vampires he’s seen over the years.  All bloodlust, no brains.

“So it seems, Erik Northman, vampire Sheriff of Area 5,” Harry blinked then swung out and cold-cocked the vile creature, finally letting him tumble back to his bare feet once his eyes rolled back in his head.  “Meet one Rene Lanier, formerly Drew Marshall, wanted by two law enforcement agencies for the murder of young women who associated with vampires.”

“You can read minds.”  Erik quirked a grin, impressed.  “Even glamour doesn’t work that way, I’ve only known demons to have telepathy.”

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes, then repeated his oft-thought for his vampire’s elucidation.

“What the modern era has forgotten about magic would be better served to tell you what they’ve _remembered_ rather than lost, it would take less time to explain.”  He corrected himself.  “Except some tribal magics that have survived.  It’s mostly the once wide-spread magic of Europe, the Middle East, and parts of Asia, Australia, and the Americas that have been wiped out.”

“Missionaries?”  Erik took an educated guess.

“Mmm.”  Harry sneered.  “And wars among each other.  The asshole that cursed me to immortality and killed most of my family did a damn good job of annihilating any of the tribes of my homeland that mixed with the Roman invaders.”

“You know…”  Erik drawled as they stood over the unconscious form at their feet, both of them picking up the sound of sirens before their eyes spotted the flashing lights headed their way.  “Watching you kickass is just as hot against a human as it was taking a pound of flesh out of vampires.”

“You’re a twisted creature, Erik Northman.”  Harry snickered, shaking his head with a wide grin on his face.  “Twisted, I tell you.”

“And you’re a warrior.”  Erik darted down, giving him an all-too-brief biting kiss before resuming his spot at Harry’s side, ignoring the curious form of the elderly woman watching them from the relative safety of her front door.  “So’m I.  I’d like to spar with you sometime, it should be… _illuminating_.”

“You want post-battle sex.”  Harry snorted, laughing despite himself.  “Quite presumptuous of you given that you haven’t made it passed first-base yet if I understand the metaphor correctly.”

“My confidence springs eternal.”  Erik eyed the near-naked form of his lover with appreciation tinged jealousy as the cop cars careened to a stop in the drive, spotlights trained on them.  “Not that I don’t enjoy the view but this isn’t exactly the most _proper_ tableau in the world.”

Locking his gaze on Erik’s, ice blue eyes tracking every second of his movement, Harry lifted his clever fingers and did up his top button of his cutoffs with a smirk dragging wickedly over his face as fire lit behind the glacier blue orbs.

“They’re used to me around here.”  He commented, even as the sheriff’s deputy Kendra hustled over to them, gun out and trained on the form at their feet.  “It’s you that’ll startle them if anything so try and keep your fangs away and your vampire weirdness to yourself until the nice police officers have carted away the trash.”

“Whatever you say, _snygging_.”  Erik smiled politely as the police worked in tandem to cuff the prisoner while another approached them and a third used an evidence bag to take care of the dropped knife nearby.

“You know I know what that means, right?”  Harry arched a brow.

“Doesn’t make it any less true, beautiful.”

…

“Poor Arlene.”  Adele commented as she came up behind her Harry and his gentleman caller.  That is if she was reading the signs between them right anyway, which she thought she was.  She was old, not blind.  And that tall drink of water was lookin’ at her Harry like he was the last sip of water in a desert.  “She’s going to be devastated.  Talk was that Rene had proposed recently.”  She tsked, shaking her head even as Harry turned to her and swallowed her up in one of his big squeezy hugs.

It was one of the things she’d noticed when she’d first met her Harry.

His hugs _mattered_.

He was a toucher, never hesitant to offer a hand to steady a body or an arm to shelter another from the cold.

But when it came to his hugs, he was choosey with who he allowed that close to him.

Once he deemed you trustworthy only _then_ would he wrap strong arms around you and reel you in, holding tight for long moments, and rest his cheek to the top of your head or press it to your own.

“I’ll tell her.”  He offered with a sigh, already knowing where she was headed with her comment.  “First,” he turned her waving towards his caller.  “Adele Stackhouse, my oldest living human descendant,” the police were far enough away that he didn’t need to moderate his language.  “May I introduce you to Mr. Erik Northman, vampire Sheriff of Area 5 which includes Bon Temps and Renard Parish.”

“A pleasure, Mrs. Stackhouse.”  Erik gave the elderly human woman a slight bow, flashing a grin that flustered her just a bit.

“Likewise, Mr. Northman.”  Adele leaned in, voice low.  “You’re the first vampire my cousin has introduced me to.  Tell me,” she asked.  “Were you present during the Civil War?”

“You might have to specify which one, Adele.”  Harry chided her with a little laugh, shaking his head.  “He’s not my age but still quite _seasoned_ nonetheless.”

“Is that right?”  Erik arched a brow at him, playful.  “Seasoned, am I?  Are you planning on having me for dinner, _älskling?_ ”

“No more than you are me.”  Harry smirked, winking then left the two alone on the porch at a shout from one of the police officers.

“No, Mrs. Stackhouse.”  Erik answered the question posed to him by the patiently waiting – and rather amused if he was any judge of human women at all – Stackhouse matriarch.  “I’m afraid I was in what are now the western states traveling during the United States Civil War.”

“Pity.”  Adele sighed.  “Harry is so protective that I know my chances of meeting with a vampire who could speak on the subject are small.”

“Being protective I’m afraid is a side-effect of living to be as _seasoned_ as Harry or I.”  Erik told her honestly.  “Time takes much from us and gives little enough back.  The few attachments immortals make to both mortals and each other tend to be jealously guarded.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell this old woman that, Mr. Northman.”  Adele reached out and patted his arm gently.  “I know full well why my cousin is the way he is and I’m thankful for it even if it _is_ a bane to my historical curiosity.  You’d best go save him from Kendra.”  She leaned in, conspiring.  “She’s a sweet girl but has a bit of a crush on Harry, as do many of the local young ‘uns.”

With that, Adele turned and went back into her home, confident as she’d always been since he’d arrived that Harry would see to the safety of the house and their kin.

…

“This place doesn’t get any better with familiarity.”  Erik commented with a sigh as his gaze swung from the rugged building that housed Merlotte’s Bar and Grille to the form of his mate, Harry having only deigned to shrug into a t-shirt and canvas boat shoes when Erik ran them back to his home to change and pick up his car.

And invite Erik in, which given the level of protections he’d sensed around the cabin he wasn’t surprised involved a drop of his blood to key him into the wards.  Especially after seeing what the enchantments on Harry’s public residence had done to Compton.  There was a reason why vampires had a justifiable hesitation when it came to magic-users in general and not just necromancers who could command and control them given their undead state.

The older vampires at least.

Younglings changed post-Inquisition rarely had the necessary respect for what a true mage or sorcerer or enchantress could accomplish given that until the recent resurgence beginning in the 1800’s, pockets of magic users were either limited to tribes or hidden conclaves that rarely dealt with outsiders of any kind, let alone vampires who would be drawn to them for the magic in their blood.

Less seasoned vampires – to use his lover’s phrase – coming up against magic-users either learned their lesson quickly or killed the magical too swiftly for it to matter either way.

“You’re such a snob.”  Harry rolled his eyes with a snicker as he wheeled his Jeep into the gravel parking lot.  “As if you didn’t grow up in a time where a building like this would have been the height of luxury, _Erikír_ of the Geats.”  He purred over the name, hiding a smirk from icy blue eyes as the banks fire behind them roared for a moment before being pulled back.  Harry wasn’t entirely certain why Erik was being cautious with him, but he did appreciate it.

It had been a literal age since he’d taken a lover for longer than a short time, a weekend or two at most usually with holiday-makers visiting his homeland or New Orleans.

And even longer since he was _pursued_ instead of being the pursuer.

It was…different.

Not bad.

No, not in anyway, nor was it unwelcome.

Simply different.

A difference requiring him to put aside, at least in part, the mask of eccentric Harry Black and remember what it was like to be Gwrtheryn of the Cornovii not just in the privacy of his home where he indulged in water and air on bare skin and the feeling of grass under bare feet but to be a creature unconcerned with the opinions of mortals.  It had been years.  Years since he’d been truly _himself_ outside of his own mind and the comfort of his own home.

Yes, he’d never cared to submit to how the small minds in this small town he’d claimed for his own thought a man should behave or manage his affairs, but he also had been very cognizant of how much he could truly push them before they pushed back in a way that would negatively affect his family.

Norms of gender, sexuality, and appearance in the United States baffled him.

Now with Erik courting him, it seemed he would be free to baffle them in turn, as even though they’d watched as he teased and flirted with anyone and everyone that was willing to play long, mainly Lafayette and the now-deceased Dawn, he knew they didn’t take him seriously as an openly pansexual man and more a man according to his own construct of such not their fragile concept of masculinity.

A wicked glint sparked in his eye at the idea of confounding and confusing the _good people_ of Bon Temps.

Now that he’d thought of it, of _playing_ with them in this way, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before, that it’d taken this long to occur to him.

He supposed that it was due to wanting things to not be any harder on his descendants than need be.

With them grown and settled, he was free to play.

Lala would be _ecstatic_ , to say the least.

Though Harry drew the line at piercing his ears, having never seen the appeal in the last thousand years since the first time he’d run into the body modification and wasn’t about to partake in it now.

He’d stick with his tattoos, especially since he knew how to remove the ink from his skin if he truly wanted now that his full powers were once more his to command.

He simply didn’t _want_ to.

Each tattoo and scar left on him marked, as Erik had noted, an important milestone or event in his life.

None of them were trivial, and neither time nor tide had worn them way.

“Like you can talk.”  Erik snorted at him, twining their hands together before looking into his eyes to check his comfort with the motion, grinning brightly when Harry half-closed his eyes with a little side-nod then locked his SUV before tucking his car keys in his pocket, Erik having vamped out and around to claim his hand after he’d hopped out himself.  “From what I’ve been able to find your people were a bunch of show-offs with your hillforts.”

“Yes, yes we were.”  Harry beamed up at him.  Only by a few inches but still.  What did they _feed_ him in his village?  Harry’d been considered a blessing from the gods when he’d been born a large child who’d towered over his contemporaries and he was a good four inches shorter than Erik.  Five hundred years was _not_ enough during the Dark Ages to affect such a larger than normal height increase.  His enemies and allies alike must have thought him to contain the blood of either a god or a giant.  “We showed our wealth through architecture instead of adornment.  Stood us in good stead as the Romans found a kindred spirit in us unlike the “barbarians” of the rest of Albion between the strength of our warriors and our strongholds.”

“You adapted and survived.”  Erik nodded.  He could appreciate that.  It was the making of a good vampire after all and Harry’s people had from all account excelled at it.  “Albion and Iwernia have long been better at that than many other regions.”

“It’s the magic.”  Harry shrugged.  “One of the first and only _rules_ of magic is that it always changes, it always adapts.  To effect the same change now as I would back when I was learning magic for the most part I have to use a different spell or different amount of power.  It’s one of the reasons, besides the wars, that so much as been lost.  They started thinking of magic as just a power source: rigid, immutable, and controlled when its anything but.”

“Why do I have a sudden feeling that you remember how to do things that would make the world both quake in fear and tremble in awe?”

“Because you’re not a stupid vampire and have a good idea what you’re getting into.”  Harry snickered, delighted almost despite himself when Erik gave a little growl and a squeeze of his hand in warning. 

Pushing into Merlotte’s, Harry’s eyes tracked through the bar for both Sam and Arlene, ignoring the sudden hush-and-babble that followed the sight of him coming in bold as brass hand-in-hand with a man.  And not just any man.  But the man-vampire that’d come to take the Rattrays away, the vampire Sheriff.

Sam took one look at the wordless display and booked over to his Alpha’s side, knowing from a glance at Harry’s eyes that he was there on business and not just to rattle some cages.

Though he’d have appreciated a warning that his Alpha was gonna start hookin’ up with a fanger but he supposed if he _must_ he at least picked one of the biggest badasses of them all instead of a puling pup like many of the new age vamps.

For a shifter and mage that excelled in blending in whilst standing out, Sam couldn’t see him being involved seriously with anyone who wasn’t old as shit.

They wouldn’t be able to understand he didn’t think, not…not _really_.

Sam knew it fucked with him, like when Harry had gone all philosophy of magic and the weave of the world on him, and he wasn’t a kid but a grown shifter that had been through some terrible things in his life and none of that had prepared him for being friends and Beta to an ancient mage.

Harry was real good at fakin’ it, and he was sure he could carry off a relationship with a mortal for a while, but eventually the inability to deal with the damage from centuries of baggage would take its toll.

‘Course, that went both ways.

He could no more see Harry puttin’ up with some sweet southern miss or mister than he could a good Bible-believin’ son or daughter of the good folk of Bon Temps dealin’ with a pagan sorcerer as a boyfriend.

“What’s up?”  Sam asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he met up with his Alpha, ignoring the vamp for now.

“Caught a crazy.”  Harry told him, tilting his head towards the back of the bar.  “I’m gonna need to see Arlene in your office, Sam.”

“Fuck.”  Sam rubbed his hand over his eyes.  “That mean what I think it does?”  He nodded when his Alpha just arched a brow in answer, waving a hand towards the hallway leading back to the office and storeroom of the bar.  “Go on, I’ll send her.”

“Thanks, Sam.”  Harry flicked a questioning look up at Erik who gave a simple enough answer by refusing to let go of his hand, the mage towing him along behind him back to the cramped office with a quiet sigh and an eye roll.  “I’ll cover whatever losses you take from running a waitress short tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know.”  Sam sighed, already moving over towards where the pretty redheaded waitress was waiting on an order at the kitchen window.  “You always take care of us, Harry.  I doubt you’d stop now that your face is all over the place on the TV.”

“You take care of who now?”  Erik asked as he was led into the small office that had little more than a desk and chair…and smelled rather regrettably of dog.  Thankfully he had a good laundry service who would get the stench out of his clothes.

“Bon Temps.”  Harry told him absently as he rested his hips against the side of Sam’s desk, watching the door for Arlene as Erik did his best job of looking inconspicuous in the small space – and failing utterly – once Harry had disentangled his hand inside the room.  “I claimed it when I moved in: pack, people, problems, all mine to take care of.”

Erik chuckled softly, though a mage of Harry’s caliber claiming a territory was no laughing matter.

Ms. Carter was lucky that Harry wasn’t predisposed to violence against vampires or else she would’ve been in a world of hurt by living in his territory without approval – both from Harry and from Erik if Harry had lodged a complain through the Authority or Council.

“You can take the king out of his kingdom…”

Harry snorted.  “Like you can talk, _Sheriff_ Northman.”

“Touché.”

Claim a territory, for either of them, in the end had little to do with who they used to be and everything to do with who they were now, even if the discussion died as a worried-looking Arlene knocked softly then entered the office.

Frightened blue eyes darted from Harry to Erik to back as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.

Arlene was a smarter woman than most thought.

Being a waitress wasn’t easy, anymore than being a mother was, but she managed.

If anything, the place in her life she wasn’t very smart or wise was in her lovelife, a trend that she’d thought she’d broken in Rene…but Arlene wasn’t a dumb woman.

She knew that if Harry was here, lookin’ at her like _that_ all quiet sympathy and stern authority with a vampire – maybe his boyfriend, given that they’d been holdin’ hands, Lafayette was gonna be _devastated_ – at his side to talk to _her_ that it meant nothin’ good.  Given that she’d never had a cross word for Harry in all the years he’d lived in Bon Temps, she couldn’t imagine he was here about _her_ , let alone her little ones.  Which really only left…

“What’s he done?”  She asked, hardening her heart against a man she thought she loved.  He's her a fiancé, and Arlene was a grown woman, but her children would have to _live here_ in the fallout of whatever Rene had been about.  And if it ran up against Harry Black then the best thing she could _do_ for her children was not kick up a fuss.  Harry wouldn’t be here, talkin’ to her, if there was doubt.  He was a good man like that.  Always cautioning not to tar everyone with the same brush, whether vampires or humans or fangbangers, his sense of fairness could be used as a knife’s edge.  No, he wouldn’t accuse anyone without cause.  If he was here…he had cause.

“Rene’s been arrested Arlene.”  Harry told her, voice soft and filled with terrible understanding of the position it was going to put the woman in.  “He attacked Adele as she was coming home from her evening service.”

Tears filled her eyes even as her shoulders squared under their watchful gazes.

“He’s the one, isn’t he?”  Arlene asked, hands clenching together in front of her, modest diamond on her finger sparkling in the light.  “He’s said somethings about vampires but I never…”

“No one ever likes to think someone they care for could do terrible things, Arlene.”  Harry comforted her, shoving off of the desk and coming over to rub her upper arms, ducking his head a bit to look into her eyes.  “The people who we care for and care for us tend to want to show us the best sides of them.  Hide the ugly parts the same as morning breath or passing gas.  If you didn’t see it, it’s because Rene didn’t want that part of himself touching you and the family you were building.  And you should hang onto that because it’s not going to be an easy road from here for you, Arlene.”  Harry told her seriously.  “I’ll help where I can, for you and your children, but he’s going to face the death penalty if I have anything to say about it.”

“There’s more, ain’t there?”  She asked, blinking away her tears and staring up into Harry’s odd color eyes.  “More than poor Maudette and Dawn and Ms. Adele?”

“There is.”  Harry nodded.  “I can’t tell you more, the police are going to have to question you but I wanted you to hear about all this from a sympathetic source and not someone like Andy.”

“I appreciate that, Harry.”  Losing the fight, tears spilled from her eyes and she all but _dove_ into his arms, crying into his worn old t-shirt as her body shook with sobs.

Over her head, Erik arched a brow at this nearly _sweet_ side to his mate, Harry rolling his eyes at him.

So he was willing to comfort a good woman in the wake of shockingly terrible news.

Sue him.

Arlene gathered together the shattered parts of herself back together after a time and leaned back out of Harry’s arms, wiping away at her face and eyes.

But before anything more could be said, Harry and Erik both snapped around toward where the entrance of Merlotte’s was at the sudden entrance of what they could tell from two rooms away was a trio of younger vampires.

Vampires that had no _business_ being in Bon Temps given that Erik at current had only approved Ms. Carter to live in the small town in his territory.

Harry cut a glance towards Erik, who vamped from the room, then told Arlene:

“Something’s come up.”  He sighed, wincing even from here when he nearly _felt_ the fear from the bar patrons at the uncouth behavior of the younger vampires who for some reason weren’t sensing their Sheriff watching from the shadows of the hallway.  “I’m going to have to deal with it.  In the meantime,” looked down at her again.  “If you need anything, anything at all, you let me know or tell Sam and it’ll be taken care of, yeah?”

“’Course.”  Arlene nodded, waving him off.  “I’ll just fix my face and finish my shift before heading out to talk to Kendra or whomever at the station.  I managed just _fine_ before Rene and I’ll manage fine after him.”

“Atta girl.”  Harry smiled, squeezing her arm once, then strode from the room to deal with the latest annoyance.

Younglings.

Always such a pain in the _ass_ and with the worst timing to boot.

_…_

“Hey y’all.”  Sam greeted the trio of fangers cautiously as the bar went quiet after the three slammed open the still-swinging door to his place.  Either they were lookin’ for their Sheriff or lookin’ for trouble with the worst timing _ever_.  And stupid with it considering they didn’t notice Northman’s presence in the bar.  “What can I get for ya?”

The three scattered through the bar, the two underlings vamping to either the jukebox or to scare a teenage boy respectively while the one who must be the leader stood in the center of the bar turning in a circle and taking in the wonderful mix of apprehension with a chaser of fear their arrival caused.

“Three Tru Bloods, if you please.”  Malcolm told the barkeep, he wrinkled his nose, a _shifter_.  Eww.  Always with the stench of animals, shifters.

Meanwhile his sweet Diane worked her wiles on half-terrifying and half-tantalizing the morsel she’d spotted, and Liam scowled at the meager offerings of the jukebox to sneers from some rednecks.

“Sure.”  Sam nodded genially.  “Just as soon as your underling lets loose of that boy, we can do that.  This is a family place until ten, which means all my patrons are held to a standard of behavior.  Otherwise you’re welcome to return after ten or not return at all, your choice.”

“Doesn’t _matter_ whether we’re welcome or not.”  Diane hissed, shoving the boy away and speeding over to Malcolm’s side, fangs bared at the shifter.  “That shit only works on private homes.”

“And this is my place.”  Sam told her.  “I choose who to serve and who not.  I’ve told you my terms, if you don’t want to follow them then I can’t be held accountable for refusing service.”

“Discriminating against vampires is unlawful in the State of Louisiana.”  Malcolm pointed out smugly.  “We’re law-abiding citizens of Renard Parish, just finished closing on a house up the road in fact.  And we’re _thirsty_.”

“Then perhaps.”

Sam blew out a quiet breath in relief as Harry stalked from the shadows, Erik on his heels having seen enough of Malcolm and his nest’s behavior.

“You should try proving it.”  Harry continued, coming to a stop in front of Sam shoulder-to-shoulder with Erik, arms crossed over his chest.

“Starting with informing your Sheriff of your change in residence.”  Erik growled at the trio, viciously pleased when Liam left the rednecks alone and joined his nestmates in visibly cowing before him.  “And not harassing the local populace.”

“My apologies, Sheriff Northman.”  Malcolm bit out as Diane retracted her fangs and nearly hid behind him.  “As I said: we just closed on the house and seeking a bit of sustenance.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, seeing through the bravado to the unnatural – even for vampires – pallor of the three.  As if they were coming off a sickness.  He only knew _one_ thing that did that to vampires: Hepatitis D, which didn’t do a damn thing to humans but weakened the vampires who fed from them significantly, almost to the point of rendering them as helpless as a human, and took anywhere from several weeks to a month to clear from the system.

“Sam,” Harry spoke over his shoulder to his Beta.  “Three Royalty Blendeds for our new neighbors, on my tab.”

Sam nodded and rounded the bar to fill the order as Harry gestured to the bar, the three vampires sitting slowly under the watchful gaze of their Sheriff who watched them move inch by inch with cold blue eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Black.”  Malcolm nodded genially to the instantly-recognizable human, though he got a bit _other_ off of him too.  He didn’t recognize it, but it might just be his taking up with the Northman, Malcolm easily noting the scent of the elder vampire all over the human though notably no blood or cum.  A new dalliance then.  Good on the old bastard even if it was bad for Malcolm, he would’ve enjoyed such a beauty for a pet, but a sane vampire doesn’t provoke one as much his superior as the Northman.

Malcolm may not be as aged as some vampires, but he hadn’t lived to two-fifty by being an utter fool either.

Erik waited as the bar went seemingly back to normal, all the humans keeping a wary eye on the vampires and Harry, to question his residents who had relocated without informing him.

“I would assume.”  He said, voice deceptively calm.  “That given your appearance in Bon Temps that you _will_ be mainstreaming, yes?”

It wasn’t a question: it was a demand and a punishment all twined together.

He knew Malcolm would rather cut his own throat than mainstream.

Too bad he decided to be an asshole while Erik was watching then, as he knew exactly where to hit the youngling nest where it would hurt.

“Of course.”  Malcolm bit out, even as the Royalty Blended the dog stocked – and wasn’t that something given how rare it was to find outside of vampire-owned establishments – helped alleviate some of the lingering symptoms of Hep D poisoning.  “Sheriff.”

“Good.”  Erik arched a brow.  “Very good…for you.  I should hate to hear otherwise and have to sanction you and your nest, Beaumarchais.  Given that my companion lives in Bon Temps, I _would_ hear of it.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“Good.”  He repeated.  “That’s settled then.”  He looked over at his lover.  “Any more business here, lover?”

Harry lifted one hand and pressed it to the bar, a slight pulse of power only felt by Harry, his packmate, and the vampires following the movement even as Malcolm’s eyes widened in recognition of what it was he’d sensed off the human.

Power.

Northman’s human and the new rep for the vampire cause was a magic-user.

And fuck him running but unless Malcolm was mistaken, he’d just tossed a ward over the damn bar that would keep him and his nestmates from _playing_ once Black disappeared with Northman.

“Am now.”  Harry smirked at the vampires, then took Erik’s proffered hand and allowed the vampire to escort him from the bar, knowing that Sam could handle things from there.

…

“This wasn’t how I imagined this night would go.”  Erik admitted with a laugh as he pulled Harry down onto his lap, steadying the glass of bloodwine his lover had offered him after Harry stepped into his bathroom for a human moment when they returned to the lakeside cabin, only to reappear in a silk wrap skirt in vibrant blues that was soft to the touch.  Erik found that he wasn’t surprised.  Knowing what he did from Godric about the tribes both before and after Roman conquest, Harry’d probably only worn some sort of legging in the winter until the rise of braies in the Middle Ages.  Not all immortals lost their old habits just as not all of them took to the modern age.  From what he could tell of his mate, Harry walked a balance between both: taking what made sense to him from the ages as they passed and discarding what didn’t.

“Welcome to my world.”  Harry laughed, sipping at his own glass of brandy as he let himself sink into his Viking’s hold, enjoying the affectionate touch just as much as Erik’s sexual advances had fired his blood earlier in the night.  “Nothing ever seems to go as planned.  I certainly never expected to get outed by _Jorge_ of all people, let alone end up in a nascent relationship with a Viking less than a fortnight later.”

He rolled his head on his neck as Erik finished his wine and set the glass aside, shifting them so his legs were stretched across the soft leather of the deep blue couch, Harry settling between his legs and laying back against his chest with a sigh.

“I can’t say I’m upset that you were outed as it led me to you and here.”  Erik told him, nuzzling against his lover’s strong neck.  “Though I seem to be a bit fuzzy on part of our night.”  His teeth nipped warningly at Harry’s neck, having a damn good idea what could affect a vampire as old as he was…and it was sitting between his legs.

“Yeah, about that…”  Harry laughed a little.  “I’m going to need to borrow one of your enforcers for an experiment.  When I put up some of the protections around the town in general and my family in particular I wasn’t expecting to have vampires as a normal part of my life.  I need to see if I can key in individual exceptions to the spells I have woven into the protections on my human family members.”

“Why not use your guards or even me?”  Erik asked, impressed despite his wounded pride that Harry’s spells were significant enough to give Erik a massive gap in his memory.  He knew he’d been with Harry at his descendant’s house and that they’d been attacked.  That was clear as was everything else from the night, _except_ what said descendant looked like or even where their domicile was located.  Erik had the feeling that if he were a younger or weaker vampire he wouldn’t even realize anything was wrong or missing.

If this was what glamouring felt like he was glad to have never experienced it, his Maker wanting him to truly _choose_ not be coerced into walking at his side through a mind trick.

Harry wrinkled his nose – rather adorably to his audience – and scoffed.

“All three of you are of the House of Seth.”  Harry complained, if lightly.  “I can never be sure with any of the original Houses whether effects are due to your inherent power or not.  An unaffiliated vampire would be better, preferably a youngling.”

“I can bring James with me tomorrow after petitions.”  Erik agreed, a bit chuffed at the implied compliment.  “He’s young but one of my more promising underlings.”

“Perfect.”  Harry grinned, excited to see what new purposes magic would allow him to bend it to.  Being able to alter personal protections in this way was something he’d never tried, just as before his Stackhouses he’d never protected individuals against entire species before.  The magic in the new world was different than that of his homeland.  Less controlled and both wilder and more malleable for it.  And above all fun to tinker with when he had the time.  “Thank you, _Erikír_.”

“Anything you need, _mitt älskling._ ”  Erik swore, pressing a hot kiss from cool lips to where the curve of his jaw met the pulse of his neck.  “Anything at all, if it is within my power you shall have it.  Even the moon and stars themselves if that is what it takes to convince you to walk through the endless years at my side.”

“Careful, Viking.”  Harry turned his head to look up at the beautiful immortal warrior that held him safe in his arms.  “I might just take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”  Erik whispered, stealing his breath in a deep kiss.  “If only because I would mean you have chosen me, as I have chosen you.”

Harry nipped lightly at Erik’s full bottom lip, pulling away just slightly as he felt the night darken.

It was time for his vampire to go, both as Harry wasn’t ready for him to stay and he had no safe place for him to rest the hours of the day away.

“I must go.”  Erik gave an all-too-human sigh, cupping a bronzed cheek in one massive hand, thumb sweeping across a cheekbone so defined it should be illegal in seven states.  “But I will return after petitions with James and my Pam if you would meet her.”

“I would like to formally meet your progeny.”  Harry agreed after a minute pause.  He’d have to make sure Colin was tucked away in Cypress Grove.  He rather doubted Erik would take his vampire PA and guard staking his progeny well at all, and he liked him too much to allow Colin his way in this despite the growing comradery between them.  “She seemed quite sassy.”

Erik bellowed a laugh as he shifted to stand, stealing one last kiss from his _hjärta_ before bidding him goodbye.

“That’s one way to put it.  _Godnatt snygging,_ until tomorrow.”

“Good _morning_ , Erik.”  Harry smiled, cocking his head as the Viking opened the door, catching him before he could dart away to beat the sun to his home.  “And Erik?”

The Viking looked back over his shoulder, arching a brow.

“Love the hair.”

 

__

_…_

_Translations: Godnatt – goodnight; snygging – sexy/hot-stuff/beautiful; mitt – my; hjärta – heart; älskling – darling/beloved; framtida – future._


	19. Erik the Victorious

** Blood Sex Magic **

_Author’s Note: As I’m sure my Trubie fans have noted, I’ve thus far skipped the Longshadow plotline.  And I’m going to continue to do so since it never made sense to me that_ any _vampire would be that dumb to try and steal from a vampire as old and powerful as Erik.  Since we’ve already been introduced to the Magister I don’t really need it for that and as Sookie doesn’t work for Erik, same deal.  Chow will still be around though, as one of Erik’s enforcers rather than the Fangtasia bartender._

__

**Chapter Eighteen: Erik the Victorious**

“Given that I smell Viking all over the place,” a chirpy Colin noted as he strode into Harry’s office at Cypress Grove Monday evening.  “I’d say you finally gave in to the ancient bastard.”

“Technically, he’s not a bastard given that as a Prince I’m rather certain Erik’s parents were married.”  David commented drily as he followed his younger counterpart.  “Though, I have to agree with Colin’s observation.”  He added.  “The Northman’s scent is somewhat overwhelming and a definite warning to species of all kinds not just vampires so prevalent it is.”

“If we were capable.”  Colin snorted a laugh into the glass of Royalty Blended he’d helped himself to before coming up.  “I’d have thought he’d pissed all around your wards to mark his territory.”

“Ha ha bloody ha.”  Harry groaned out as he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.  He hadn’t slept well – or at all really – after Erik left, far too wired from the night’s events, and even being able to tease Jesús and Lala at lunch over their budding romance wasn’t enough to put him into a good mood.  Though Lala gushing over the _gorgeous_ Lorcan d’Eath from the concert and seeing Jesús’s eyes fire with jealousy had been entertaining it hadn’t helped.

Not with what he’d learned.

Fucking rednecks.

Fucking vampires.

Add to a damn pressure cooker like a small southern town dealing with a killer after vampire-affiliated young women and you were set for bloodshed.

He’d _hoped_ with Rene’s capture – or Drew Marshall, come to find out – that it was over for the time being.

No such luck.

It seemed some of the local bubbas didn’t take kindly to Malcolm and his nestmates’ behavior the night before and had taken matters into their own hands.

Renard Parish was currently down three vampires and a turn of the century plantation home on the outskirts of the Parish and Shreveport, it being right on the line of not one and not the other.

Cunning of Malcolm, he’d give him that.

And stupid since between the recent violence in Bon Temps and their little display the night before, the fire department hadn’t gotten there in time to save them as they were trapped in their daily death.

Their own natures killed them as much as a couple idiots with gas cans.

But it was a problem that was smack in Harry’s backyard and _not_ something he wanted to deal with as long as he needed to figure out the situation with Erik, not to mention what the local news were going to make of it or any of the interviews he’d be taking would say about it.

It was a complication he didn’t need, over and above the loss of life.

Though given how they’d behaved, it wasn’t that big of a loss.

Sam certainly wouldn’t mourn them.

Hells, if it wasn’t for Erik needing to make an example regarding anti-vampire violence, Harry probably wouldn’t give a damn either.

But he did and now he and/or Erik had to come down on whatever idiots thought barbequed vampire was an appropriate response to the trio acting like jackasses in the middle of Merlotte’s.

“On a serious note.”  David settled into his executive desk chair that his ancestor had ordered custom for him on a rush order and his human PA had picked up during the day.  Harry always _had_ spoiled him.  Whether that was from who David’s father had been or just from the rare closeness he’d engineered between himself and David he wasn’t always certain.  Harry had been far more than a mere tutor to him.  Now that he knew what he knew about Harry’s history, he was even more surprised for all the ways the ancient one had let David into his life during David’s human childhood and youth.  “Have you gotten an answer from Northman on what he’s after yet?”

“After a fashion, yes.”  Harry sighed.  “Not a complete one I don’t think, there’s still something he’s very deliberately _not_ saying but he said he would have me however I would allow him: lover, companion, spouse…it’s my decision.”

Colin snorted.  “As if he won’t be trying to manipulate you into making the decision he wants every step of the way.”

“That goes without saying.”  Harry rolled his eyes with a grin.  “Manipulative creatures, you vampires.”

“As if you’re any better, Council Mage.”  David toss a balled-up piece of paper at his ancestor’s head, Harry letting it connect with a light crunch against his temple then snapping it up as it fell and lobbing it back, hitting a bullseye despite David’s vampiric reflexes after centuries of sparring with Toth and being well aware of where their blind spots were and how to exploit them.

It made him look forward to that spar Erik had asked after.

Harry _did_ enjoy being underestimated.

Given a vampire warrior like Erik who had never lost a battle beside the one that killed him or would have if he had the history right from Toth and Julian’s stories about the other bloodlines, he would be frankly shocked if Erik _didn’t_ underestimate him and assume a victory was a foregone conclusion.

Heh.

Magic or not, Harry had more than one trick up his sleeves for knocking a vampire down a peg or two.

Well, metaphorically speaking since clothes had been a chore he’d not been willing to entertain this morning, settling for a cleaning spell on his cut-off jeans and a random tank top – black being the first that came to hand – and running around barefoot except for the run to Sam’s…ornery shifter that he was insisting on _shoes_.

Harry had seen and worn many iterations of foot coverings and clothing of all kinds.

From the simple leather and fur wrappings of his childhood and youth in cold weather to modern styles, no version of _shoes_ had ever endeared themselves to him, though sandals weren’t atrocious and the slip-ons he often wore less _binding_ than boots or anything with laces.

After the invention of high heels, he’d never been happier than when they became shifted towards being “feminine” footwear for the everyday and not an expected part of the male ensemble any longer.

Though given the right motivation, he probably could still rock a pair of heels, if he managed to find them in his size anyway.

“Another serious note.”  Harry sighed, turning towards Colin where the vampire was reviewing the news headlines for the last few days regarding the SBA and vampires in general, David firing up his computer to do the same only regarding the SBA and any vampire legislation and coordinating the support of the Sentient Being Rights Amendment all over the country.  The SBRA comes up for a vote in every state in November.

They needed to be ready, a duty that had landed mostly in David’s lap with everything else Harry had going…and that was before Erik had started pressing his courtship with Harry.

Colin managed the logistics of Harry’s position as the head of the SBA while David managed the political and law portions, thus far making an excellent team if only having worked together a single night.

That single night had gotten more done to do with the SBA than Harry’d managed on his own in the week before with everything else in his life that demanded attention, including a giant Viking-shaped distraction that stole his attention more often than not.

The pair were worth every fucking penny the Authority was paying them.

Harry managed _appearances_ and the image of the SBA and vampire cause while his trio of PA’s took care of the details, a division of duties that suited them all, especially with Harry’s ability to scan thoughts of interviewers, pundits, and opponents alike so long as they were in the room with him.

He didn’t necessarily _approve_ of using his power this way, but he couldn’t deny it was effective.

And much less invasive than allowing vampires to glamour their way into the ratification of the VRA which made no provisions for beings that were neither strictly human nor vampire and given that this was the first year that the proposed Amendment was up for vote, they were able to alter it to fit Harry’s and the Council’s agenda of being the SBRA instead, saving them precious time.

“Colin,” Harry continued.  “Erik will be bringing his progeny and at least one enforcer with him this evening.  I would _prefer_ if you either returned to your residence or remained here at Cypress Grove tonight until they take their leave.”

“I _can_ control myself.”  Colin arched a brow at the warning.  “However, given the newness of the situation, I will remain tucked away like a dirty little secret rather than rattle precious Pamela.”

“You can rattle her all you want.”  Harry scoffed.  “I just don’t want you killing her and then Erik killing _you_ and all the fallout _that_ clusterfuck would cause.”

Colin supposed he couldn’t deny that without his second maker here to keep him in check that he might do something _final_ to Pamela.

At times he wasn’t certain if Harry was just insightful or had a taste of actual foresight, so well did he read those around him, even beings like himself who weren’t as easy for Harry to get a bead on let alone manipulate the way he could humans.

“When will they arrive?”  David asked, taking Colin’s silence as agreement to Harry’s request.  He’d have to join the meet-and-greet, both as a vampire of their line and a descendant of Harry, to do otherwise would be quite the slight both to Erik as Sheriff as well as his ancestor’s suitor _and_ to Harry himself now that the connection was acknowledged – and quite the coup for the House of Seth at that given Harry’s revealed status as the immortal Council Mage.

“After petitions.”  Harry raised his hands over his head, twisting and giving a pleasurable groan at the crack of his spine.  He was _not_ made to spend hours hunched at a desk.  Thank all the gods for Jesús who was learning quickly and now Colin and David.  Between the trio he should be able to curb his hours and hours in the office and simply answer emails or give most directions from the lounger on his dock thanks to cellphones, tablets, and video conferencing.  “And they’ll have to drive since I can’t imagine young James will be able to keep up with Erik on foot, which gives an extra twenty minutes on top of however long that takes.”

David flicked a glance at the clock on the wall, making a mental timeline for that, even if courtesy would demand that Northman give Harry a warning before they left for his home to allow him to prepare.

What courtesy might demand, David had found over the years of his vampirism, often was set aside in the wake of an impatient vampire.

And no vampire was so impatient as one who was in the midst of a courtship whether for a mate, companion, or spouse…or perhaps, David cast an amused glance at Harry who was staring off into the middle distance, mind clearly not on whatever danced across his computer screen, all three.

“Why don’t you go nap or shower or something, Harry?”  Colin suggested, nearly reading David’s mind, tone laced with bitter amusement at _who_ was causing Harry’s distraction.

A problem for David to keep an eye on, even if it was – at least somewhat – deserved when it came to Colin’s grudge against the Viking and completely understandable when it came to his progeny Pamela if David had the history between them right.

“We can handle things here.”  David told his ancestor with an amused smile, shooing him towards the door.  “Go chill before you wind yourself into a dozen knots.  She’s just a youngling, hardly the stuff of nightmares for someone like _you_ , Council Mage, remember that.”

…

“Gods, it never ends.”  Erik cursed as he rose for the night, staring at the news alert lighting up his computer screen.  He enjoyed technology, he truly did despite his occasional wishes for a simpler time, much as he could lose an hour or more luxuriating in a hot tub of water or under the downpour of a steam shower.  And yet, when that same technology threw up roadblocks to Erik seeing his _älskling_ , he could consign it all to Helheim.

This evening it was a notification of a fire.

A fire that was already rumored to be arson and took the lives of three of his underlings.

Irritating underlings that had just the prior night been behaving like idiots in a redneck bar, a bar, by their own admission that was _just down the road_ from their now-firebombed residence.

Louisiana, de facto capitol of all things Other in the New World, and capable of going from zero to a hundred problems in less than a day.

All he wanted was to return to the side of his _älskling,_ continue wooing him, and introduce him to the ones most beloved in his life: his Progeny and his Maker, the former of which would still occur this night though the latter would take a trip to Dallas…well, one problem at a time.

Keith and Chow will have to investigate the fire, Merlotte’s would make a good starting point, while Erik dealt with his personal business and kept the Authority from taking charge of the situation.

As if they had time at the moment.

Roman was keeping him as informed as was wise given that Erik was the third most powerful of their House and bloodline in the New World, and the corruption that Nan had seeded had borne more fruit than just incompetent monarchs but also led to the Sanguinista movement.

Three Chancellors and a score of lower level vampires in the New World at current count either died tragically as victims of anti-vampire terrorists or were being held in the silver cells below of the Authority prison in Terrebonne Parish as a result of Roman’s investigation.

Erik was lucky that his personality didn’t lend itself to a position in the Authority or he had no doubt Maker’s blood-brother would have already come knocking to have him fill one of the empty seats.

As it was, he rather thought he’d be losing a Lieutenant whether he _or_ she liked it or not as there weren’t many vampires Roman could trust as implicitly as he could his mate Thalia, though that still left Roman with two more seats to settle after filling Nora Gainsborough’s, those that once belonged to Alexander Drew and none other than Salome Agrippa herself, one of the few vampires in the New World that could compete for age with Roman and his blood-brother Godric.

More fool her that she tried her tricks on a mated vampire.

Seduction was a rather ineffective tool in the face of almost eight hundred years of love and devotion.

Oh yes, Salome was lucky herself that Roman had settled with a staking.

Thalia wouldn’t have been nearly so merciful.

Roman, from all he’d told Erik, wasn’t being so foolishly optimistic as to believe he was rooting out _all_ of the Sanguinistas in the New World, let alone the world as a whole, but he was getting rid of the disease attempting to grasp a stranglehold on the Authority, it would have to be enough.

Anything else would require a consensus of the true ancients to carry out and _that_ was a feat somewhat more difficult to accomplish than attempting to herd house cats.

Vamping to the shower after closing out of his email and sending off instructions for Keith and Chow, as well as a few to his finance manager regarding an expected movement of liquid assets as Erik purchased gifts or arranged travel on the fly with his black Amex, Erik felt a grin breaking over his face as his fingers scrubbed scentless shampoo through his hair.

_Harry liked his haircut._

Considering the bitching Pam had done when he’d gotten blood from interrogating a little bitch of a V-addict, dealer, and drainer with the unfortunate name of Amy Burley who’d shown up bold as brass in Fangtasia last week in his hair while she was working on it, forcing her to trim it much shorter than planned, it was a rather heartening compliment from his _framtida make_ …and perhaps the first _verbal_ sign of appreciation of Erik’s looks that he’d received from the tricksey little mage.

Though it had to be said: only someone of Erik’s stature could or would call Harry Black _little_.

In his time, his _lilla älskare_ would have been a formidable sight on a battlefield, in Harry’s time he likely was considered a blessing from the gods given the wars of the time.

However, unlike Erik who had been frozen by his undeath with the same impressive musculature of a professional warrior from his time, Harry changed with the ages his body unfrozen to time…meaning that he did _something_ to maintain the impressive physique that was often on display from all reports by cut-off jeans or hidden under linen and silk suits or shown off by painted-on leather.

Oh yes.

Erik had hit the jackpot in his _framtida gemål_.

A blessing from the gods after all this time and all they’d taken from him.

A balm to old hurts.

Not that he would _ever_ forget or forsake those he’d lost before his Maker gave him a new life and purpose.

No, Erik would always remember.

And one day, he would find the vampire that stole his family from him.

Gods willing, he would have his vengeance with his dangerous mage at his side and bathed in the blood of their enemies.

…

Harry hadn’t quite managed a nap but an hour spent sorting and organizing his memories had left him in better control of himself than he’d been the night before.

There was nothing quite like playing temptress to a Viking of the caliber of Erikír Segersäll – oh yes, he’d finally placed why a Viking of the Geats had tickled at his memory, it took awhile but a warrior of the caliber of Erik the Victorious was hard to forget even though at the time of his raids on the eastern and northern shores of Albion Harry had his hands full trying to keep an idiot king from destroying Wessex – to shatter one’s control.

Sex had never been a weapon that Harry wielded with intent – save for a rather brief period where it was the only one in his arsenal that worked – let alone against as practiced a seducer as Erik.

The Viking had probably forgotten more about sex and seduction than Harry had ever learned.

Indeed, if it weren’t for Erik choosing to pursue him with earnest sincerity rather than heated seduction, Harry thought he’d have already found himself naked and writhing in the beautiful warrior’s bed.

Harry had long prided himself on his flexibility, his ability to adapt to any situation and roll with it.

Erik had blasted that confidence to smithereens with a simple white flower.

Pursuit for his power.

His looks.

His abilities.

Pursuit for what Erik could _gain_ , that he understood.

Pursuit for himself and he turned into blushing maiden warrior staring at his first cock or teats.

What that damn Viking did to him should be illegal in seventy countries.

Erikír would settle for nothing less than total possession of his _all_.

All of his power, his abilities, his body.

Total possession: heart and soul.

Nothing less would do for a warrior that had never met a challenge he couldn’t surmount, a city he couldn’t siege, or a battle he couldn’t win.

Not even death had reigned over _Erikír Segers_ _äll_.

Instead it had come for him and taken him as its companion.

Still…Harry tilted his head back and allowed the steaming water of his shower pour over his head as a smirk quirked at his sculpted mouth as the wards twinged, alerting him to his suitor entering his territory, raising his hands to thread to his hair to work out the conditioner with a faint hint of honey, suds coasting down his body as a cold, hard form came to rest against his back – alone one moment and accompanied in his ablutions the next – and large swordsman’s hands settled at his bare hips.  Just because Erik rattled him didn’t mean he couldn’t return the favor.  And if the hardness throbbing against the muscled curve of his ass was any sign, finding Harry naked and _wet_ in his steam shower and the fangs ghosting over the curve of his neck was any sign, he could qualify Erik as shaken if not totally rattled at the unexpected greeting this rising.

Yes, Erik had begun this game of courtship touch and go.

That didn’t mean Harry wasn’t willing to play along.

Or even to try and beat him at his own game.

After all, Harry rarely toyed with others, preferring the clean simplicity of a kill or dismissal instead.

That didn’t mean he didn’t know how.

Erik wanted him.

That wasn’t in question.

But he was still holding something back.

And Harry wasn’t about to give in to the Viking vampire until he found out what, exactly, was so important to keep from him.

He hoped Erik enjoyed having blue balls.

It was going to be his permanent state until he caved and told him what he wanted to know – fully, without holding _anything_ back.

Playing sex-chicken with a Viking might not have been Harry’s wisest courses of action in all his years.

But it definitely looked to be entertaining nonetheless.

…

“You’re an evil creature, Harry Black.”  Erik whispered in one bronze ear as his hands stroked over bare skin that smelled of Harry’s unique scent dusted with a hint of honey from his hair products.  It seemed he’d already put Erik’s gift certificate to good use, the Viking recognizing several of the pots and jars in the bathroom from the New Orleans boutique.  They were the ones who made the special scentless line used by both Erik and many other vampires after all.  He groaned under his breath as the minx in his arms turned, brushing the globes of his firm ass over Erik’s hard cock in the process, pressing every last _inch_ of his naked self against the vampire invading his shower.  “ _Evil_.”  He gasped, closing his eyes as he tried to regain the control he’d rapidly lost at the sound of the running shower when he’d arrived.  “The devil incarnated.”

“Shouldn’t that be Loki incarnated?”  Harry teased, twining his hands through Erik’s short hair, coming up on his toes to brush his mouth against one extended fang that had Erik hissing at the tease of his body against his own as well as the caress to more than one sensitive body part.  A vampire’s fangs were more than feeding tools, though that they were also sexual was only known to those who had – or had had in the past – a vampire as a lover.  “Fire, magic, mischief.”  Harry chuckled low in his throat, that same dark chocolate sound that had sent shivers down Erik’s body in the tribunal warehouse.  “Surely I have more in common with him than the Christian boogeyman?”

“Perhaps.”  Erik agreed, pressing his forehead to Harry’s own, hands coming up to hold the mage firmly by the shoulders and hopefully keep him from shredding his control as Pam shouted at him from outside the cabin, her patience waning.  Not that she had much to begin with.  “But, sadly, this isn’t the time for this.”

“Aww…”  Harry pouted teasingly, then rolled his eyes.  “Too bad.  I was having fun.”

With a snap of his fingers he cut the water off then stepped out into his bathroom, Erik vamping around him to snatch up the toweling sheet from the warming bar and wrapping him up then speeding through drying himself off as Harry teased him with glimpses of warm golden brown skin and dark tattoos as he moved with sultry human slowness, a smirk never moving from his lips as he stared at the ogling form of his vampiric suitor.

Pushed to his limit – for the moment anyway – Erik vamped over to the open closet, arching a brow at the contents.

He’d expected the suits – though there were only a dozen or so, proof enough that while Harry knew how to dress for a certain effect it wasn’t his preference – but the full bar running the length of the closet filled with wrap skirts, kaftans, tunics, and simple drawstring shorts and pants were more than what he thought he’d find along with the wall of sandals and bags running the same length of the closet.  Harry’s preferences, apparently, ran much closer to his roots than one would think from his appearances at Fangtasia and the tribunal or on TV, though he saw plenty of leather and silk as well.  A few quick peeks at tags had Harry’s sizing locked away in Erik’s memory vault, though his curiosity was roused by the locked-and-warded chest that took up the entire back wall of the massive room.

“Good thing my progeny is outside.”  Erik commented as Harry padded on quiet – even for a supe – feet into the carpeted space, towel tucked around his hips and torc back in place on his neck, as Erik had spied it resting on a bed of silken velvet on the bathroom vanity nestled among pots and a few pencils and tubes he’d recognized as make-up containers thanks to his progeny.  “If she saw your closet she’d nag me for months until I paid for an expansion to her own.”  He frowned, cocking his head as he compared dimensions.  “Is it bigger inside than the building would suggest?”

“Expansion charms.”  Harry shrugged.  “Not my favorite use of magic but sometimes necessary.”

He moved through the space, burning ice eyes locked on his every movement as he plucked down a simple pair of drawstring pants that faded from black at the waistband to sky blue at the hem and stepped into them with his back to the vampire though Erik had already gotten an eyeful in the shower.

It wasn’t as if he was shy.

A tease on the other hand…oh yeah.

Teasing Erik might become one of his favorite pastimes if the vampire insisted on pursuing him.

Another click of his fingers had the wards lowering on his jewel chest and another banished his towel to the laundry basket in Cypress Grove that Holly took care of, Harry transporting the washed and folded clothes back to his closet whenever she texted him regarding having a stack ready for him.

Waving his hands in an opening motion, he grinned at the groan and eyeroll Erik gave at the sight of his collection – and these were only the ones he wore on a semi-regular basis.

“And if she saw _this_ ,” Erik flicked a hand at the trays and trays of precious metals and jewels, though there were some semi-precious or costume pieces mixed in.  “I would _never_ hear the end of it.”

Outside, Pam had her eyes narrowed on the door to the cabin, toe-tapping as she schemed to figure out a way into this _closet_ to see for herself what had her Maker glad of her absence.

Harry laughed at that.  “I love the sparkle.”  He admitted easily as he selected a few pieces – a triskele pendant in platinum with an aquamarine in the center, a cuff in an X also made of platinum, and a pair of rings in sapphire, aquamarine and diamond: one in the shape of a snow flake and the other an oval sapphire with the other stones melting away from it in lines that reminded him of water – to give credence to his words, able to choose for preference rather than impact for the first time since Pamela had originally met him, slipping Erik’s carved-bluebell and bloodstone bracelet onto his right wrist opposite the X cuff.  “And I’ve had plenty of time to collect since meeting the other tribes of Albion that showed their wealth in gold and silver rather than in structures as my people had done.”

“So I see.”  Erik arched a brow as he bent closer, lifting up a particular ring with a green diamond set in what looked like black-dipped gold that would likely take up Harry’s entire knuckle.  “ _Quite_ the collection, lover.”

“Meh.”  Harry waved that off, plucking the ring out of Erik’s hand and putting it back in its spot.  Each and every piece had a place in the trays and trays of glitter and gleam.  “This is only what I wear actively.  There’s more in my vault in London.  Most of it ugly as sin,” he winced.  “I rather regret my Brutalist period, brief though it was.”  He clicked his fingers once more and had the chest closing, locking, and wards back in place.  “In the future you might want to stay away from the bottom two trays.”

“Why?”

Harry snickered.

“I’m surprised you couldn’t tell: it’s all silver.”

“I wasn’t exactly focusing on the stones with you standing next to me.”  Erik defended himself, dragging his eyes over the still-on-display chest and arms, netting a raised eyebrow from his beauty.  “I could smell the silver but didn’t try to locate it.”  He arched a brow of his own.  “I _trusted_ that you weren’t going to use it on me, lover.”

“I’m not sure it that was brave or stupid of you Viking.”

Erik laughed.

“How about we call it both and go greet my progeny before she loses her temper and shaves my head while I’m dead for the day?”

“Agreed.”  Harry grinned, giving Erik a leer of his own.  “I rather like you with hair, it would be a shame if you had to stay away for _weeks_ while it regrew.”

 

…

Erikír Segersäll – Erik the Victorious

_Translations (Swedish): Godnatt – goodnight; snygging – hotstuff/sexy/beautiful; mitt – my; hjärta – heart; älskling – darling/beloved; framtida – future; gemål – consort; make – husband/spouse; god morgan – good morning; Hallå – Hello; lilla älskare – little lover._

 


	20. Nothing but the Blood

** Blood Sex Magic **

**_Warning_ ** _: I actually love the character of Pam.  That said, I have some issues with some of the shit she pulled both in her canon backstory pre-series and her canon behavior during True Blood.  So that’s going to be an issue going forward until it gets resolved in-fic.  I’m not Pam-bashing, just forcing her character to deal with and take responsibility for her own shit instead of having Erik clean everything up for her._

**Chapter Nineteen: Nothing but the Blood**

“It’s about damn time.”  Pam snapped at Erik as he emerged from the rustic little cabin that his latest obsession called home.

Why the damn Council Mage lived _here_ in this little shithole just off a swamp instead of in the fucking _mansion_ he owned a couple hundred yards away, she neither knew nor cared, except when she was left waiting on the fucking doorstep while her Maker canoodled with him in the shower and closet – a closet that apparently would have her green with jealousy if either of them ever _deigned_ to remember that she and James were waiting right the fuck outside.

Only now they’d been joined by motherfucking _David Callahan_ , one of more irritating – in her opinion – members of their House who’d been shanghaied into working for Erik’s obsession by the Authority.

Pam would be impressed with the mage – as she was already inclined to like him after he gave her such much entertainment in the form of a pining Maker and a silver-wrapped Bill Compton – if he hadn’t been so damn _rude_ as to leave her waiting outside like some minion.

Still, Erik wanted his mage, so he’d get him.

Even if she had to kidnap him, wrap him in a silk bow, and leave him sitting in the middle of Erik’s damn bed to manage it.

“We’ve been waitin’ ages for y’all.”

“Hardly.”  Harry snorted, rolling his eyes even as Erik towed him over to the foul-tempered blonde he’d Changed just over a century ago.  “David barely got here a minute ago.”  He turned and looked up at his Viking, waving to the silent form of his own blond.  “David Callahan, my descendent and progeny of Ramsay of the House of Seth, I’m sure you know Erik Northman, Sheriff of Area 5 and his progeny Pamela.”

“Charmed.”  David drawled, propping a shoulder on one of the porch posts.  “Who’s the baby?”

“Hey.”  James frowned.  “I may be young but I’m not a baby vamp anymore.”

“A pleasure as always, David.”  Erik nodded, taking his own turn at introductions.  “I hope your stay in my area will be fruitful.”  Gesturing for Pam to come forward, he stood her just out of arm’s reach from his mage.  “Mage Black, may I present my progeny Pamela Swynford de Beaufort.  Pam, this is the Council Mage, currently going by Harry Black.”

“Pleasure.”  Pam arched a brow at the cool once-over Black gave her.  “Mage Black.”

“We’ll see.”  Harry allowed with a flick of his eyes between his Viking and Erik’s progeny.  “Ms. De Beaufort.”

Ouch.  Erik gave an internal wince.  That was the coolest he’d ever seen Harry be towards a vampire, even when turning over Compton he’d shown more fire – albeit dislike – towards Bill.  What little he knew about Harry told him this wasn’t a reaction towards having vampires in his territory, but he wasn’t sure _what_ was behind it at all.

Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t bode well for the two getting along.

At least with Pam he knew her attitude was at least half not being the sole owner of his attention any longer, with the rest both due to Harry not being a vampire and his own chilly reception being reflected back towards him.

“This is James, the enforcer you requested.”  Erik hurried to move things along before his lover and his progeny got into an actual cat fight instead of a silent one.  “He should suit for testing your wards.”

“Excellent.”  Harry nodded, being visibly warmer towards the youngling after his cold demeanor with Pamela.  “Your progeny is free to watch if she desires but I have no need of her for my tests this night.”

“And why is that?”  Pam asked, cocking her head and her hip almost in unison as he brushed passed her, David vamping away only to return moments later with an elderly human woman whose presence Pam barely registered – though that was something.  Even with the worst vermin on the streets she always paid attention to where they were and what they were doing.

“For one, I have no intention of altering my wards to allow your presence in my homes or around my descendants.”  Harry told her point-blank.  “For two, I prefer to only have vampires I trust in my territory and at this point I just don’t trust you.”

“Why?”  Pam scoffed with an eye roll.  “We’ve barely met.”

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know about you and the problems you’ve caused in your short unlife, Ms. De Beaufort.”  Harry arched an unimpressed brow.  “Or have you forgotten so _quickly_ that as both the Council Mage and the head of the SBA I’ve been made well _aware_ of why my suitor has chosen to mire himself away in Shreveport when he could be ruling any of the monarchies in the New World?”

“I’d rather not.”  Erik interjected his – markedly truthful – answer to that implied criticism of his progeny.  “Too much paperwork.”

“Maybe so.”  Harry smirked as he finished his inspection of James, taking out a shiny needle in silent question, James nodding his consent after a glance towards his Sheriff, Erik nodding in answer.  “But you can’t tell me you wouldn’t still be roaming or perhaps settled with your Maker if not for your progeny getting her hand slapped and sentenced here either.”

“Ah,” Erik grinned, nodding in belated greeting to Adele – who he suddenly remembered, motherfucker those were some _fine_ wards Harry had her under – when Harry took the drop of blood and pressed it with a flash of power and some rune work to her necklace.  “But then I wouldn’t have me you, _älskare_.  All’s well that ends well.”

“When did the human get here?”  James asked in confusion, blinking away spots of light.

“David, if you would.”  Harry murmured, nodding towards Adele who had an avidly interested look on her aged face even as David vamped her away.  “Now we wait.”

“Seriously.”  James repeated even as Erik and Pamela blinked, frowning at him in confusion.  “When did that human get here?”

“Your presence was requested to see if I can key in an individual vampire to the wards protecting my human family.”  Harry explained himself – finally.  “The woman you saw is the eldest of my human descendants.  Can you remember her?”

“Uh, yeah, of course I can.”  James gave a weirded-out smile, eyes wide.

“Erik, Pamela?”

“I remember seeing someone.”  Erik frowned, eyes narrowed.  “But couldn’t place them or even their gender if pressed.  Pam?”

“Not even that much.”  She arched a brow, impressed despite herself with the mage.  Though it still didn’t excuse him taking issue with her.  _She_ was a vampire.  He was just…nice-smelling blood in a pretty package with a bit of power.  “Which is really _annoyin’_ because now I have this strange foggy sensation in my head.”

“Excellent.”  Harry grinned, bouncing on his toes.  “David, you can bring her back now.  James, thank you for your time, that was all I needed.”

“Ah, you’re welcome I suppose.”  James nodded to the mage, then vamped away at a gesture from his Sheriff and an order not to speak of what had gone on.  “Have a good rest of your night.”

“He seemed sweet.”  Adele noted as her ancestor moved around her, repeating the process to key in a vampire to her protections with his gentleman caller from the night before as well as the one who’d been introduced via picture message on Sookie’s phone as one of their other family members.  An undead family member, but _family_ nonetheless.

“He’s young.”  Erik explained as the fog over the brief moment earlier and his memories from the night before lifted.  “And that’s some impressive warding, lover.”

“Thanks.”  Harry smirked.  “I’ve only been working on it for fifteen hundred years, give or take, though against vampires is a recent usage I’ve bent it to.”

“What were you worried about before?”  Erik asked, even as Pam rolled her eyes and vamped away to her car, the three of them that had come over together: Pam, Erik, and James; having taken her pink minivan rather than Erik’s corvette for lack of seating otherwise.

No point in sticking around when the mage was being pissy about her presence in his _precious_ shithole of a territory and her Maker only had eyes for the mage.

She knew there had to be more to it than her admitted fuck-up in Paris that had his panties in a twist.

Not that he _wore_ undergarments from what she could tell by the lines of his various trousers.

But for the unlife of her she couldn’t figure out what she’d done that had him acting like she’d spit in his beer.

Though at least she knew she hadn’t _literally_ spit in his beer like she had some of the vermin who visited Fangtasia, no she knew she’d never seen him before he came calling with the sad-sack of Bill Compton sized shit.

What in the world had she done that would have him tolerate seein’ her in Fangtasia but not his own property?

Normally she wouldn’t give a flyin’ fuck.

But her Maker was obsessed with the hoity-toity Council Mage.

Meanin’ Pam _had_ to give a fuck whether she liked it or not.

Given the way he’d looked at her…it was definitely at case of _not._

…

“Why, Harry Black.”  Adele scolded him, hands propped on her hips.  “I’ve never seen you be so rude in my life!  And to the progeny of your caller at that!”

“Erik’s progeny she may be.”  Harry arched a brow.  “But until I see _some_ hint of maturity out of Ms. De Beaufort she will remain unwelcome in my territory.  You don’t know her history, Adele.”

The explanation was as much warning as it was anything else, to both Erik and Adele, neither of whom knew the history Harry had with Ms. De Beaufort – though in view of being thorough neither did Pamela for that matter.

Not his problem.

Her continuing to behave like a spoiled child was on her Maker, not Harry, and a large tick mark in Erik’s disfavor.

He should have controlled her.

She was _his_ progeny, her behavior a direct reflection on him, and one of the major reasons he was still struggling with the idea of becoming Erik’s companion despite his overwhelming attraction to the Viking.

He needed to know him better, this was true.

But Pam was a problem, one he wasn’t certain how to resolve, especially given that Colin couldn’t be hidden away forever though his second Maker had done an excellent job of keeping him away from her thus far, at least until Pythia insisted on him becoming Harry’s assistant.

Meddling creature that she was.

“And you do?”  Erik arched a brow even as David courteously offered Adele his arm and headed for the Stackhouse residence, Erik and his _framtida kompis_ falling into step behind them, the pair bending their heads together in quiet conversation allowing the Sheriff and his Mage to sort this most recent of speedbumps between them.

“Have you or your progeny spent any significant time in Albion in the last fifteen centuries?”  Harry asked in turn with a knowing smirk.

“ _It’s where I was turned_.”  Erik confided, switching to Old Swedish as his beloved had proven he knew the language during the Tribunal.  _“Pam spent some time there as a young vampire before returning to my side in France.”_

 _“Yes, she did.”_ Harry’s eyes were a solemn green rather than the dancing or fiery emerald Erik was used to seeing.  _“No vampire crossed through my territory in all the years I was trapped in my homeland without my knowledge.  As such, I likely know more about what your progeny got up to whilst_ visiting _than even you do, Erikír_.  _Let us say that if it weren’t for her having good control for a baby vamp I would have been most put-out with_ both _of you and not just her over the mess I ended up having to clean up after she fucked back off to your side.”_

_“What did she do?”_

Harry snorted _.  “If she hasn’t told you nor have the others involved I’m not about to.  That’s their secret, not mine.  Just be aware that your own progeny represents the single worst barrier you face in gaining what you wish from me.”_

“That’s cheating, Harry.”  David complained idly, looking back with the devil-may-care grin he inherited from his ancestor and shared with his own descendent Jason, though he didn’t yet know it.  “How’m I or the lovely Adele supposed to eavesdrop on you when you speak in a language neither of us knows?”

An unsympathetic Harry rolled his eyes.

“If you had spent more time at your studies – as I tried to convince you – when you were young instead of being googly-eyed over horseback riding, tennis, fencing, and the joust, you might know Old Swedish, David.”  He scolded lightly.  “If it weren’t for your father being who he was, I would fear your education would have been even more in danger than it already was.”

“Who was your father?”  Adele asked, ravenous as always for history, especially her family history which at times Harry could be quite stingy with the juicy bits.

David sighed, tossing mock-scowl back at Harry even as the lit-up Stackhouse home came in sight.

“David FitzRoy.”  He finally admitted.  “An unacknowledged son of Henry FitzRoy by a minor noblewoman and illegitimate grandson of King Henry the Eighth.”

“Seriously?”  Erik arched a pale brow at his beloved.  “One of your descendants got tangled up with the Tudors?”

“Why not, I was.”  Harry wrinkled his nose.  “For the most part I avoided royalty like the plague but with the effect of the War of the Roses, the institution of a Spanish Queen in Catherine of Aragon whose parents allowed the Inquisition free rein in Spain, and other issues I had to do what I could to protect myself and those like me from meeting the headsman or being burned at the stake for witchcraft.”

“You didn’t have to _literally_ get into bed with my forebearers though, Harry.”  David snorted.

“I didn’t, that was just a nasty rumor Anne started because she didn’t like how close I was to Harry and Charles.”  He protested.  “No one actually _believed_ that Harry was trying to get in my hose as much time as he spent up Anne’s skirts at the time.  Bloody bint’s lucky that Cromwell didn’t try and have me burned.”

“Holy shit, you did know them.”  Erik blinked, eyes wide.  _No_ one talked about royalty, no matter how long dead, with that sort of irreverence unless they did.

“Did.”  Harry nodded.  “Didn’t say I liked that lot, but I was around for the drama-filled Tudor era in one way or another, didn’t really step back from them until FitzRoy decided to dally with one of my few descendants at the time.  There’s something Adele,” he smiled at her a bit bemused.  “You’ve the blood of more than one royal running through your veins.”

It was probably one of the things that had attracted Fintan to her, not that he’d rub salt in that wound by saying so.

“David’s mum, Mary Callahan,” Harry continued even as they crested the porch stairs bathed in warm golden light from the sconces.  “Was a rare beauty even for my line.  I wasn’t surprised when one of those carousers took a liking to her, but the FitzRoy lot weren’t as bad as some back then.  Rather them than the Buckingham arseholes with their airs or the grasping of the likes of Seymour.”

“What’re we talking about that has Gran excited and Harry exasperated?”  Jason asked as he walked out of the screen door to meet them at the head of the parade of four: himself, his wife Amelia, Sookie, and her husband and mate Alcide, the latter greeted and greeting the vampires in turn with rough growls until Sookie and Harry’s admonishments had them behaving.

“Well before the supes decided to try and have a pissing match on the porch.”  Harry narrowed his eyes at a suddenly-innocent Erik.  “Just some ancient family history involving David, here.”  He waved towards the tall sandy-blond vampire with rich blue eyes.  “David Callahan, meet two more of your – our – descendants: Mr. Jason Stackhouse and Mrs. Sookie Herveaux and their spouses Amelia and Alcide.”

“Wolf.”  Erik nodded to the lone werewolf member of the Bon Temps shifter pack.

“Fanger.”

“Behave.”  Adele stepped up, scolding both with impunity as David escorted her over to the porch swing, Harry setting to using David and Erik’s blood to alter the wards on her children.  “That goes for all of you.  We’ve found more family tonight.”  She reminded them all.  “It’s a good day and I won’t have any of my children being rude in front of Harry’s caller after all he’s done for us.”

“Yes’m.”

“Yes, Gran.”

Satisfied with the ducked heads and sheepish expressions all around, Adele nodded as she talked quietly with David who filled her in some more on his personal history as Harry worked on altering the wards with a wide-eyed Amelia watching as he worked, Harry explaining some of the theory as he went to the young witch while Erik just watched him with a look in his eyes Adele had seen before, though it had been some years.

It was the same as Fintan had looked at her, all those years ago.

Never in her life had she met a mortal man capable of loving as completely and devotedly – and in a short matter of time – as her Fintan.

There was something to be said, she supposed, for the instincts and drives that those who were more than human possessed.  Alcide was just the same.  He’d known at once what her Sookie was to him and then waited years for her to be ready to return his favor.

He’d known.

That gave a body the patience to wait that was often missing in young folk from what Adele could tell.

Souls that looked at centuries of life the same as she did days or months or a year likely had more patience in their little fingers than she had in her whole body, even now as an old woman with the wisdom of a long human life behind her.

Harry had that kind of patience for all that he could be quite impulsive when the mood took him.

It seemed fitting that his suitor would be of the same sort.

Patient, but impulsive when the mood struck.

Good.

He’d need both to handle her ancestor and more.

She only hoped he proved up to the task.

If not…well.

Adele hardly felt the need to warn him of what could come from that.

If he didn’t have some clue already then he was askin’ for trouble all on his lonesome and had it comin’ besides.

…

“Why is it always blood?”  Alcide asked in mild complaint as he watched Harry etch runes onto the backs of the warded jewelry they all wore at Harry’s insistence.  Apparently so they could be around these _two_ vampires without worrying about them forgetting they exist.

Paranoia, they name is Harry.

But given that it’d kept them all safe thus far, Alcide couldn’t complain too much about it, and the worst of the warding had always been on Jason and Sookie anyway, Amelia, Adele, and himself had never been under ones nearly as comprehensive.

Though since they didn’t smell like part-Fae either it made sense.

Jason thought that with their scents – apparently – settling with their maturity that a lot of the wards could be lifted but…again, Harry’s paranoia was almost without bounds when it came to protecting his family now that his curse didn’t do it for him at least in part.

“Blood is life.”  Erik told the pretty blond male that had a hint of Fae in his scent, starting to understand his _älskling’s_ hesitation in letting younger vamps like Pam and James around them.  “That’s as true for you as it is for us.  In magic it’s the surest way to make a spell or ward personal since it can’t be faked or duplicated.  When it comes to magic even identical twins aren’t identical if you use blood in spells for or against them.”

“That’s right.”  Harry nodded, looking at Erik with consideration out of the corner of his eye as he worked on getting his suitor’s allowance worked into the wards.  “Things you pick up over a thousand years, huh?”

“Not so much.”  Erik shrugged nonchalantly even as he kept an eye on the wolf, though Herveaux was clearly besotted with his pretty mate – all of Harry’s descendants he’d met this night for that matter were attractive from David on down, with even Adele having a gracious age to her that spoke of youthful beauty – who if Erik had never met his _snygging älskare_ would have definitely grabbed Erik’s attention without the wards Harry had her cloaked in.  “My people practiced magic, especially the women, my mother herself was a _vala_.  Magic is nothing new to me even if I don’t tamper with it myself I respect the abilities of those who are learned in the arts when they’re not dabblers or misguided tree-worshipping hippies.”

“Should’ve figured.”  Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders before picking up the last ward stone to alter, Alcide’s bracelet that shifted with him, dipping his needle in the small vial of blood he’d taken each from both Erik and David who would get them back once he was done.  “It’s easy to forget sometimes which people practiced and which didn’t as the years roll on.”

“Why is that?”  Jason asked idly, watching just as closely as his wife.  Between himself and Sookie he’d always been the one more interested in learning this facet of what Harry had to teach them.  Sookie’d always wanted to be normal.  She’d gotten over that for the most part with Harry showing up in their lives but even so she wasn’t signing up to be a card-and-cauldron carrying witch anywhen soon.  He and Amelia on the other hand didn’t hesitate to join in with Harry on the power days and light their fireplace with a breath.  “Your memory is kinda scary for the most part.”

“It all starts to blend after a while unless it was happening around me personally.”  Harry admitted.  “Like you said: for the most part.  I don’t have the mental vault of a vampire.  My mind is still human I just can use more of it thanks to how I was changed to live this long.  Method of loci helps a lot but can still take time for me to recover information I’ve sorted away.  So, I didn’t know offhand that the Geats practiced a sort of hereditary witchcraft.” 

He cocked a brow at Erik who nodded in confirmation of the practice in question after he handed off the bracelet to Alcide and passed the vial of his blood back to the Viking, tossing David’s over to the vampire who was entertaining Adele and Sookie with what sounded like stories from his adventures in the early American colonies before he was turned in 1613.

“Well, now that that’s taken care of.”  Adele rose and clapped her hands.  “Let’s move inside and away from the mosquitos.  David, Mr. Northman, won’t you both please come in?”

…

“I like your family, _mitt hjärta._ ”  Erik whispered in one bronze ear as they watched the fire once more burn low in Harry’s fireplace, ending the night in an echo of the previous rising curled together on the couch with Harry’s bare back and arms heating Erik’s front, David long since returning to his duties at Cypress Grove alongside the other vampire Roman had lent his lover, though neither Harry nor the young one Erik sensed had made any move to introduce him.  A problem for another day.  “They are an interesting group of creatures.  I haven’t seen or smelt a Fae, even a part Fae, in centuries.”

“Very much on purpose.”  Harry chuckled, one hand toying with the bracelet he’d given Erik, a decoration the vampire had yet to take off if he was to be believed, despite it not always going with his all-black attire.  Not that it mattered.  A vampire as old and powerful as Erik could carry damn-near anything off.  “Niall and his people have closed most of the portals into Faerun and the other Fae dimensions, while I did my part on the ones I’d stumble over in my homeland or here.”

“That must piss the pompous Fae off.”  Erik noted with a wicked chuckle, eyes gleaming.  And he knew what he was talking about, Godric having told him quite a bit about the Fae over their years together.

“Oh you have _no_ idea.”  Harry snickered.  “It _chafes_ at him that he can’t strike at me for it given that we share descendants now.”

“Jason and Sookie?”  Erik arched a brow in surprise.  “They’re Brigants?”

“Mmm.”  Harry hummed in agreement, sinking down into Erik’s hold as his prior sleepless night started to catch up with him.  “Quarter.”

“Gods.”  Erik blinked in surprise.  “That warding _is_ impressive.  Without it their scent must be…”

“Quite.”

“I still like them.”  He decided a moment later.  “Even the witch though the puppy has an attitude.”

“He has reason.”  Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulder that wasn’t pinned against the couch arm with how he was sprawled over Erik.  “More than just down to species as well.  He’ll adjust it just might take him awhile to get used to having vampires in the pack territory coming and going at will.”

“Better be soon.”  Erik grumbled, nuzzling against his _framtida kompis._   “My patience isn’t endless, especially for those who have no grounded reason to be pissy in the first place.

…

The next night, as David was teasing Harry – once again – over snaring the illusive Viking who had yet to arrive for his nightly go at wooing David’s ancestor, the phone rang Colin picking it up with an eye roll and a soft snort at the to-do David was making over the simple gold band of a bracelet said Viking had left for Harry to find on his bedside table, likely placed before rousting the naked-and-teasing form of his lover out of the shower.

”Hello?”

“Collin.”  The stern tones of Roman poured over the phone line, Colin’s back tensing in a split-second at the sound.  “Make arrangements for yourself and Harry to fly to Dallas as soon as possible.”  A gusty sigh.  “We’ll pay whatever fee the Mage requires for his assistance.”

David, drawn by the conversation snapped his head around cueing Harry to wander over and, well, _loom_ over the slighter-form of his first vampiric assistant.

“You’ll pay for his assistance with _what_ , Roman?”  Colin elaborated on his response for his new boss’s erudition.

“Locating a missing vampire.”

Colin’s eyes shot wide then he asked the question though considering the carte blanche being offered Harry he had an idea he already knew what the answer was sure to be.

There weren’t many vampires the Authority would give such an expensive resource like Harry free reign with.

No, it had to be someone _important_.

And of those, only one happened to live in Dallas: Colin’s second maker.

“It’s Godric, Colin.”  Roman told the youngling softly.  “Godric has been missing from his nest for at least two days.”

“We’ll be there.”  Harry spoke loudly enough for the ancient vampire to pick up, nodding sharply at his assistant.

After all, the missing vampire wasn’t just the Sheriff of Texas’s Area 9 and the shoe-in for the vacant Kingdom of Louisiana…but the Maker of his potential mate.

Harry could do no less than his all.

Not for someone who meant so much to Erik…and Colin himself.

…

_Translations (Swedish): Godnatt – goodnight; snygging – hot stuff/sexy/beautiful; mitt – my; hjärta – heart; älskling – darling/beloved; framtida kompis – future mate; gemål – consort; make – husband/spouse; god morgan – good morning; Hallå – Hello; lilla älskare – little lover._

 


End file.
